Miles to Go Before I Sleep
by Rannaro
Summary: This story is AU. What would have happened if Voldemort had understood that defeat, not death, conferred mastery of the Elder Wand and did not kill Snape? And what of all the stray Death Eaters that JKR forgot to mention? Like Bella Lestrange's husband?
1. Chapter 1

At first I planned not to post this one since, in my mind, it was superseded by _Reflections in the Silver Mist_ and _Elementary, My Dear Potter._ It does, however, have its moments, and an ending that is not typical of me.

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 1**

They were making no headway in the entrance hall. The defenders were shooting from doorways, behind pillars, shielded by the sweep of the great marble staircase, and the attackers were unprotected on the wide, open floor. Snape dodged spells and tripped over bodies, trying to find a way upstairs. A way to locate Potter.

Someone grabbed his arm and he spun, wand at the ready, to find himself facing Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy's mouth was moving, but in the din of battle Snape couldn't hear what he had to say. Malfoy leaned closer, his mouth next to Snape's ear. "He wants you!" Malfoy cried. "He wants you now. Go, please. He's in the Shrieking Shack."

Snape shook his head and tried to break away, pretending he hadn't understood, but Malfoy wouldn't let him go. "Severus, for God's sake, he's asking for you! Go to him! Go now!"

It was over. This bid to accomplish his task was over. Snape followed Malfoy out of the castle and began threading his way through the dead, the wounded, the still-arriving reinforcements that crowded on the lawn. He looked up at the castle and saw that part of one wall had been blasted away entirely, the effect, probably, of the Dark Lord's rage.

_The snake_, Snape thought as he hurried down the hill, leaving Malfoy behind. _If that was his anger at the destruction of the fifth Horcrux, then only the snake remains. I can't kill the snake. I have to give Potter his instructions, and I can't do that if he destroys me for killing the snake. Please let me have another chance to talk to Potter. Please…_

Snape made his way through the deserted streets of Hogsmeade. The Shack was oddly quiet, an island of calm after the storm of battle. Its enchantments had been removed, allowing Snape to walk to the door, lift the latch, and enter. The Dark Lord was in the room on the ground floor, the one where Snape and James Potter had managed to escape the werewolf Lupin.

"Severus," the Dark Lord said as Snape entered. "Has Hogwarts fallen?"

"No, Lord," Snape said, bowing. "When you summoned me, we had taken the doors and were inside. The entrance hall will soon be in our hands, and we'll be able to isolate pockets of them and defeat them piecemeal. I greatly desire to give you this victory, my Lord, if you will permit me to return to the battle."

"I think not, Severus. It is something else we need you for now."

Snape was shutting down, locking and sealing the doors of his mind. _I can't let him see how much I need to go back, to find Potter. I can't let him suspect._

"Lord…" Snape paused, not wanting his desire to be too strong, too suspicious. "I can still help in this battle. I am a good fighter. I wish to see your will accomplished in this, my Lord. Their resistance is crumbling…"

"…and it is doing so without your help. Skilled wizard though you are, Severus," and something in the cold, high voice turned Snape's veins to ice, "I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there… almost." The Dark Lord was not, Snape realized, talking about the battle. He noticed the snake, wrapped in a protective bubble, like a cage. He was slowly filling with a deep, nameless dread.

_Potter. I have to tell Potter. It's the only thing left that matters._ "Let me find the boy," Snape tried to keep his voice low and calm, not to let the Dark Lord hear his fear. "Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please."

The Dark Lord rose from the table where he had been sitting. He was fingering a wand. Dumbledore's wand. Pieces began to click into place in Snape's head. The Dark Lord's voice was gentle. Gentle and dangerous. "I have a problem, Severus."

"My Lord?" Snape said. He looked at the wand and thought of Dumbledore, eyes closed, telling a story that Snape had to believe because Harry had to believe, eyes closed to conceal the part that Harry couldn't know.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"

Snape's face was a blank, his mind closed tightly now to block the anger that sprang up inside him. "My Lord," he said, "I do not understand. You… have performed extraordinary things with that wand." The anger was building. Anger against Dumbledore. _You knew. You knew it would come to this, this last step needed to give him the confidence to use the wand against Potter. You knew. All that talk about sparing an old man pain and humiliation – an act to trick me into doing your will. Another pig led to slaughter._

"No, I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… no. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago." The Dark Lord paused. "No difference."

There was nothing to say. Dumbledore had fooled him, and now Dumbledore would reap the penalty of his lies, because the crucial, vital task had not been accomplished. Snape knew that he was about to die, and Potter had not been told. Hatred flared against Dumbledore, and Snape felt a certain satisfaction that the old fake had failed. And yet…

The reality of the Dark Lord was inescapable. He was altogether evil. He had twisted and blighted Snape's life, destroyed everything that gave it meaning, brought cruelty and death, and turned Snape's friends into enemies. He had killed Lily, and now he would kill Lily's son – and suddenly Snape had a glimmer, an inkling, of why Dumbledore's eyes had been closed, and he knew that in a choice between the Dark Lord succeeding and Dumbledore succeeding, he would follow Dumbledore, because there are worse things than being led like a pig… no, like a lamb… to slaughter.

He had a task. "My Lord… I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter. He might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself…"

The Dark Lord spoke of his wand, dragging out the moment, toying with Snape who saw where this was leading and could think of no way out. He couldn't even try to kill the Dark Lord, for the soul fragments in the snake and in Potter would anchor him, keep him alive. He could only wait and watch his own death approach. And still he tried, "My Lord… let me go to the boy…"

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."

"My Lord!"

"It cannot be any other way. Take out your wand, Severus."

Snape hesitated, then obeyed. "I don't understand, Lord," he said, holding the wand loosely, pointed down at the floor.

"I must defeat you, not execute you. You will use your wand against me, and I will defeat you. Then I will be the master of the Elder Wand."

The last, desperate chance opened up before Snape with only seconds to plot his actions. He couldn't kill the Dark Lord, not while the Horcruxes anchored him to life, but if he did it right, he might be able to kill Nagini. After that, he would die, his last hope being that the Dark Lord would, in his fatal pride, kill Potter. Only in his own death did Potter have the power to defeat the Dark Lord, and thus fulfill the prophecy.

"Defend yourself!" the Dark Lord cried, aiming his wand at Snape's heart. _"Avada…"_

Snape dove to the Dark Lord's left and rolled as the green killing spell smashed into the wood behind him. His movement forced the Dark Lord to turn.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord said. "Only in true battle can there be true defeat. Even in this you serve me well. I do regret that I will lose you. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Snape again dodged the spell to the Dark Lord's left, but a little backwards so that he was not where the Dark Lord expected him to be as, from his prone position on the floor, he pointed his wand, not at his master, but at the snake in its bubble that hovered just behind him. The Dark Lord didn't seem to realize the true target. _One clean shot, that's all. One…_

He didn't get it. The Dark Lord's _"Relashio!"_ released a stream of sparks that seared into Snape's flesh and sent his wand skittering across the floor. Snape cried out in pain and clutched his burned arm. He lay still on the floor waiting for the death that had to come, knowing that he had failed utterly.

The Dark Lord paused, gazing down at his defeated lieutenant. "And yet," he said, as if continuing an uninterrupted conversation, "Dumbledore did not kill Grindelwald. No, it would seem that defeat is required, not death. You fought me honestly, trying to defend yourself. I have defeated you. The Elder Wand is now mine, and I am its master. Come, Nagini. We go now to destroy the Potter boy. You, Severus, may tend your wounds and then follow us."

The Dark Lord swept from the room, taking the great snake with him. Snape remained on the floor of the shack, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short, quick gasps. That he might still be alive at this moment was the last thing he had expected.

After a moment, Snape staggered to his feet, still breathing heavily. A reprieve. He had a reprieve, but he had no idea how long it would last. The problem of reaching Potter with Dumbledore's message was now more urgent than ever. If what the Dark Lord said was true, and he controlled the Elder Wand, then he would surely kill Potter when they met, and someone had to kill Nagini, and only then kill the Dark Lord…

_How do you pass on a message when the receiver doesn't trust the messenger? I know Potter was somewhere in the corridor when Minerva attacked me. I know he believes his worst suspicions proven true. How can I give Potter this message in a way that he will believe, and still be myself in a position to strike at Nagini or the Dark Lord without the Dark Lord suspecting what I'm going to do? I don't think there's been one time in all the years he's known me when Potter would ever have believed something I told him._

But that wasn't true. There had been the one time, the time when Potter had followed blindly and trustingly, in complete faith that he was being guided to his destiny, guided to Gryffindor's sword. The idea formed quickly. Picking up his wand from the floor, Snape thought of Lily and conjured the doe patronus.

_But he'll recognize my voice. Once he knows the message is from me, he'll reject it._

Snape was becoming frightened. He had very little time before the Dark Lord started wondering where he was, and he couldn't send a patronus from a place where people were watching. In that respect he was lucky the Dark Lord had summoned him to this quiet spot. But how to get the message across in a way that would make Potter believe it.

The patronus stayed with him, gentle and calm, and Snape thought that hearing his own voice from such a delicate creature would seem incongruous. Lily's voice would be so much more suitable. He thought of Lily, thought of her saying, 'Listen to me,' and 'It is important,' and then placed the tip of his wand against his temple to draw the memory out.

_I haven't got a clue if this will work, but a patronus isn't a pensieve, so it should be able to take a partial memory._ Carefully, he offered the silver strand of memory to the doe, and she accepted it, then said in Lily's voice, "Listen to me. It is important."

Taking a deep breath, Snape called up other images, fragments of his memories of Dumbledore with the information about Nagini, and that Harry had to die to destroy Voldemort. These he placed in the patronus as well. He couldn't give it too much – patronuses carried only short messages – but he was content. Lily asked Harry to listen, then Dumbledore gave him instructions.

With a whispered prayer that this would work, Snape sent his patronus off to find Potter, then went himself to rejoin the legions of the Dark Lord.

It was, Snape reckoned, about an hour before dawn. He made his way through the deserted lanes of Hogsmeade to the gates of Hogwarts. Just as he crossed onto the school's grounds, he heard the voice of the Dark Lord, and jumped in shock and fear, for it seemed the voice spoke right at his ear, as if the Dark Lord stood beside him. Snape turned quickly around, seeking his master, but there was no one there. Then he realized the voice was magically amplified and came from in front of the castle.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me."

Snape rushed for the hill, but the forces of the Dark Lord were already withdrawing from the castle, and the path down the hill was crowded with Death Eaters, with giants, and with spiders. Dementors cast their chill over the host, and suddenly the Dark Lord was in their midst.

"Severus, you have come in good time. I have a task for you." The Dark Lord gestured toward his army. "My captains come with me into the Forbidden Forest to await the arrival of Harry Potter. Someone must abide here to position my troops for the onslaught against the castle should Potter fail to come. Here I leave the bulk of my Death Eaters, and the dark creatures that serve me. You are to keep them in order and poised for the assault. We should not be much over an hour."

So, Snape was not to know if Potter had received and heeded his message until it was too late. If Potter fought the Dark Lord and won, then it would be all to do over again in a few years' time with no Dumbledore to lead and encourage them. It was a future Snape didn't want to contemplate. On the other hand, if the Dark Lord killed Potter, then there was still hope. Snape could try to position himself where he could strike at the snake. It would mean his own life, but Snape no longer cared. With Potter and Nagini gone, the Dark Lord could be killed.

It was over an hour, nearly two, when movement was noticeable in the Forbidden Forest. The Dark Lord returned, and prominent in the procession was Hagrid, clearly a captive. And in his arms, Hagrid carried the dead body of Harry Potter.

Snape felt his heart lighten. There was still hope.

The procession stopped there at the foot of the hill where the Dark Lord's armies were massed, Hagrid with his sorrowful burden foremost among them. There were tears streaming down Hagrid's face, and at any other time Snape would have felt sorrow for Hagrid's sorrow, except that what was happening now was too important to permit feeling. _Did he get my message and understand it, or was he simply defeated by the Elder Wand?_

The Dark Lord stepped forward to stand a pace ahead of Hagrid, Nagini draped around his shoulders like a stole. His voice once more amplified by magic, he spoke to the defenders of the castle.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body…"

_It didn't work. Either the patronus couldn't carry a memory message, or Potter didn't get it, or Potter didn't understand it._ _It doesn't matter. Potter still died before the Dark Lord. It's just that I have to assume no one else knows about the snake. I have to kill the snake. The instant my wand strikes at Nagini, every Death Eater around me will blast me to ribbons. If I do it now, he'll leave. I have to wait until we're closer to the others. Maybe someone will strike at him._

"Come," said the Dark Lord, and he and his entourage moved up the hill.

Snape turned to a rank-and-file Death Eater who'd been helping him keep order. "I need to be where I can receive the Dark Lord's instructions. If reinforcements are required, I'll signal you from the hill. I doubt that will necessary, however. The Dark Lord seems to have everything under control."

Keeping to the rear and to the right, Snape followed the others up the hill. Most of them, he was sure, didn't even know he was there.

Out of the castle the ragtag group of defenders edged their way onto the steps and the grass. From their midst came McGonagall's heart-rending scream, and the swelling "No! No!" of all the others. Snape eased his way forward, keeping to the outside rim of the circle of Death Eaters. With Nagini around the Dark Lord's neck, it was tricky. He had one shot. He had to kill the snake with the one shot, but not accidentally strike the Dark Lord. There was no clear shot. Snape waited.

Movement, a scuffle, the crack of a spell, and Neville Longbottom lay on the grass before the Dark Lord. Snape watched as the boy was hauled to his feet, wrapped in a body bind, and the Sorting Hat set flaming on his head. He himself kept his attention on the Dark Lord. This was not the time to be distracted by feelings…

Then his attention was shattered by a howl and a roar of "Hagger!" as the giant Grawp plowed up the hill, and the giants below responded with a charge. Mere confrontation morphed into battle as centaur arrows challenged the giants' rush, and in the wave of confusion that swept the top of the hill, Neville Longbottom suddenly strode forward, a warrior armed with Gryffindor's sword, and sliced off Nagini's head.

There was no time to register relief, for at almost the same instant, before Snape even fully realized the magnitude of what had happened, Hagrid began to yell, "Harry! Where's Harry?" The body had disappeared.

Panic seized the mob of wizards, defenders and attackers alike, as they were trampled by giants, pierced by centaur arrows, and dive-bombed by thestrals. The crowd had grown immensely, but why or from what direction Snape couldn't tell. Together with the rest, he found himself washed by the tide of wizards into the entrance hall, and he fought to keep his eyes on the Dark Lord. But a panic had seized Snape, too, for suddenly, unexpectedly, he could no longer be sure that Harry Potter was dead.

It was the crux of everything. Nagini was dead, but if Harry Potter was still alive, the Dark Lord could not be killed. The one who killed the Dark Lord released him to return at his leisure. If Harry Potter was not dead, and the Dark Lord died with his Horcrux intact, then everything, everything was in vain.

Snape's entire life now focused on this one thing – to be sure of the death of Harry Potter, and then to kill the Dark Lord. Nothing else was important; nothing else mattered. Strung taut with fear and frustration, Snape battled the tide into the Great Hall where a hundred small battles were being subsumed into two gigantic ones. On one side the Dark Lord battled with McGonagall, Shacklebolt, and Slughorn. On the other Bella dueled with Molly Weasley. Neither battle concerned Snape in the least. He struggled through the shifting mass of wizards to find if Harry Potter lived or not.

The answer came with crashing finality. Molly vanquished Bella. The Dark Lord swept his opponents away and turned on the victorious but now vulnerable Mrs. Weasley. In the midst of everything, a well-known voice screamed, _"Protego!"_ and together with the shimmering shield spell Harry Potter appeared in the center of the Hall, his invisibility cloak collapsing into liquid folds at his feet. The Dark Lord was surrounded and trapped.

_No!_ Snape's brain screamed, though his mouth was silent. _You can't kill the Dark Lord! Don't release him to bring this plague on us a third time!_ He stepped forward, his as yet unused wand slipping from his sleeve into his hand, and he raised both to strike Potter down.

The attention of almost everyone in the Hall was focused on Potter and the Dark Lord in the center of a crowd of hundreds. Almost everyone. From off to Snape's left, a bolt of streaked black and gold shot across the intervening space, slammed into his unprotected chest and side, and hurled Snape into the edge of a side table. He crumpled into blackness and lay still on the stone floor…

xxxxxxxxxx

Hands. Hands dragged Snape back up into the light… light that was blurred, hazy. Hands slapped his face, tugged at his hair, at his clothes… Hands wrenched his arms behind his back and lashed his wrists as pain lanced up his right side. Hands jostled and shoved and punched, hands clawed at his face, and Snape ducked his head down in an effort to shield his eyes. Around him there was a pandemonium of angry voices.

"Here's another…"

"…scum into the entrance hall…"

"Bring all the Death Eaters…"

"…tried to kill Harry! I saw…"

"That's the one murdered Dumbledore!"

Suddenly the crowd snapped into focus, Snape at its center. Cries of "Murderer!" and "Dumbledore!" swelled around him, and the press of people swayed back and forth, turning into a mob that spilled into the entrance hall, carrying Snape with it in a tidal wave of fury, howling "Murderer! Murderer! Dumbledore! Vengeance for Dumbledore!" and finally a pulsing chant of "Hang him! Hang him! Hang him!"

A table appeared at the foot of the marble staircase, and Snape was hoisted onto it, other wizards clambering up beside him to hold him upright so the crowd could watch. A silver rope dangled by Snape's left ear, its lower end twisting snakelike into a noose. Around him a sea of faces, hate-filled and unrecognizable, kept up the chant of "Hang him! Hang him! Hang him!"

Hands gripped the hair at the nape of Snape's neck and yanked his head back while other hands pulled the noose over his head and tightened the buckle behind his left ear. Snape closed his eyes, praying only that it would be swift…

Then, with the suddenness of summer lightning, the mood changed from hatred to panic. Screams from the back were overwhelmed by the crash of splintering wood and a deafening roar of "Hagger! Come! HAGGER!"

Wizards fell over each to escape from Grawp. Those not fast enough were flung through the air as the giant cleared a path for his brother. Hagrid came pounding into the entrance hall from outside, thundering his wrath.

"Let him go! Let him go! Ye harm a hair on his head 'n I'll break ye like twigs!"

Some of the braver, angrier wizards turned and shot spells at Grawp and Hagrid, but the two could not be stopped. Grawp was next to the table in three steps, tore the rope in his huge hands, and grabbed Snape around the waist in one enormous arm.

The mob swayed again, fear changing to fury at the loss of its prey, and Grawp, stung with spells from all sides, followed Hagrid's lead, carrying Snape to the little room next to the staircase, the room where the first year's waited for the Sorting. There he laid Snape on the floor and went to throw wizards from the room and block the door.

Hagrid knelt next to Snape, cutting through the ropes that bound his arms and taking the noose from around his neck. "Y're safe for the moment, lad. Grawpy 'n me'll hold the door. Ain't nobody can touch you as long as we're there. Tempers'll cool in a bit and then we'll sort this out. You just lie still." He rose and joined Grawp at the door.

Shaking like a leaf, Snape pushed himself up and crawled on hands and knees to the far corner of the room, where he huddled trembling, his arms wrapped around his head. The Dark Lord must be dead, of that he was certain because of the actions of the mob, but what else had transpired, and for how long the Dark Lord would remain dead were mysteries. Snape was exhausted, exhausted and terrified, and as he listened to the spells that struck the walls and stung the two brothers who held the mob at bay, Snape began to whimper…

After just a quarter of an hour, the noise from outside began to subside. Over and above the rumble of the crowd, a voice was raised in speech, a young voice, a familiar voice – Potter's voice.

"…are a people of laws and justice. Those laws and that justice are for the protection of everyone, or else we're no better than the enemy we just destroyed. I'm just as angry as you are. I want vengeance for Professor Dumbledore, too. But he wouldn't want the vengeance of a lynch mob, and we can't want that either. Snape can't escape us now. As soon as the Ministry is back in our hands, there'll be a trial, and then we'll have justice. Go now. Tend to your wounded. Bury your dead. It's over. We're free again, and we have the time to do this right."

There was silence, and then there was cheering, and after that the murmur of voices and the sound of people moving away to attend to their business. A pause, and then Grawp and Hagrid stepped aside, and Harry Potter walked into the room.

Potter walked across the small space and looked down at Snape, who sat hunched in the corner, his face pressed into the angle of the walls. "You're safe for the moment. They're willing to wait for the right kind of justice."

Snape neither moved nor spoke. There was a narrow table on one side of the room, and Potter perched on it, his feet dangling just above the floor, his hands gripping the table's edge on either side. "I should have let them kill you," he said coldly, "but Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted it that way."

The door opened, and Ron Weasley entered the room, Longbottom and Granger behind him. Potter nodded toward Snape. "Get him on his feet," he said.

Weasley and Longbottom seized Snape's arms and pulled him up, Snape gasping at the sudden pain that shot through his right side. He doubled over slightly, then gritted his teeth and straightened his back.

"Harry," said Hagrid gently. "He's hurt. He needs to see a healer."

"So do a lot of other people," Potter answered. "He can wait his turn."

Snape spoke softly. "It's not over, you know. He's coming back."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Potter replied. He, too, sounded tired. "You'd like to have your master back, but it isn't going to happen. This time he's gone for good."

Snape shook his head. "He had ways of avoiding death…"

"You mean the Horcruxes? We got all of them. When Voldemort died, there was nothing to hold him here. He's gone." Potter smiled. "So you can say goodbye to that dream. Your master's dead. Your power's gone."

"There was one you didn't know about."

Potter laughed then, triumph in his eyes. "You think we stumble in the dark, Death Eater, but there are powers watching over our cause that you couldn't possibly imagine. I've been guided and protected every step of the way. You think Voldemort's coming back because I was a Horcrux, too. But Voldemort himself destroyed that soul fragment when he killed me."

The others looked at Potter, startled. "Killed you?" Weasley and Granger said together.

"Yeah," Potter told them. "I went to Voldemort like he told me to, and I let him kill me to destroy the soul fragment. I thought he really was going to kill me, and he did, but I was able to come back after the fragment was gone because it was his soul he killed, not mine."

"Why didn't you tell us you were going to do a harebrained thing like that!" Weasley shouted.

"I didn't know about it until just this morning. I got a message. I think it was from my mom. I know it was from Professor Dumbledore, too."

"What kind of message?" Granger asked.

"A patronus. I've seen it before, and now I'm sure it was my mom's. It spoke with her voice, and then it spoke with Professor Dumbledore's voice, and it told me what to do. So you see, Snape, even the dead… Hey!"

Snape had slumped suddenly against the wall and was now sinking to the floor. He clutched his injured side as pain again stabbed through him, but the rest of his body was letting go, releasing the tension and leaving him weak and shaking. He curled into the corner and stifled a sob.

Potter rose from his seat on the table and motioned to his friends. "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here. This whole thing disgusts me. We'll leave the Death Eater to mourn his dead master."

At the door, Potter turned to speak again. "This isn't over. You and I are going to talk, and you're going to pay for what you did. But right now I'll be nice. I'll leave you to Hagrid. For some reason he still seems to think there's an atom of good left in you. Why, I don't know, though I'm sure he'll figure out the truth pretty quickly. Meanwhile, you'd better practice your story for the trial. You're going to need a good one."

After Potter and his friends left, Hagrid came to sit by Snape. "Let me get that jacket and shirt off, lad, and look at yer side." There was a massive bruise and a swelling caused by hematoma. As Hagrid probed delicately, Snape drew in his breath sharply – a mistake that made it hurt even more.

"Ya broke a few ribs," Hagrid pronounced. "Ya musta hit something real hard."

"Table," Snape gasped.

"That'd do it," said Hagrid. "Ya gonna tell me what happened, or are ya gonna let them steamroll ya into the ground?"

Snape looked around at the sparsely furnished room. There was only the table on which Potter had sat and a few chairs. "I'm tired, Hagrid," was all he said.

"Ain't no fit place here to lie down," said Hagrid. He sat next to Snape and propped his own back against the wall. "I ain't no feather bed, but I'm a good bit softer 'n stone. You lean back against me, and we'll see if we can find a way to keep them ribs from hurting too much."

Snape did as he was told, settling himself into the crook of Hagrid's left arm and leaning back against the half-giant's coat. It was a good deal softer than stone. Snape sighed resignedly. "What will they do with me Hagrid? Am I going to die?"

"That might depend on you, They scared ya, didn't they?"

"I don't think I've ever been so certain I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it."

"Did ya ever think t' tell him that?"

"Tell who?"

"Harry."

Snape stiffened, and his expression grew hard. "I have no intention," he said coldly, "of letting that… person gloat over my weaknesses."

"It ain't no weakness t' be human, lad. Has Harry ever got the chance t' think you was human?"

"I certainly hope not!" Snape exclaimed, first sitting up and then cringing at the renewed pain it cost him. "And he never will if I can help it."

"I suppose," said Hagrid, "as that means y're going to die. Pig headed I call it, but if y're set on it…"

"I am not going to grovel to that little toad!"

Hagrid sighed. "It's a winning way ya have about ya. I'm surprised ya don't win Mr. Popularity every year. Must be nice being so loved and loving." When Snape didn't respond, Hagrid continued. "Are ya gonna tell him what ya been doing for Professor Dumbledore?"

"I don't know. I have warning bells in my brain."

"Now that's gotta be uncomfortable. What're they warning ya about?"

"Were you in the Great Hall, Hagrid? When it happened, I mean."

"Nah. Me 'n Grawp was outside trying t' control the giants 'n the centaurs. And the thestrals. Spiders, too. Didn't get inside 'til Grawp heard the chanting. That's when we figured you was in trouble. Why?"

"Something… just before I got slammed into that table. Something I saw." Snape pondered the problem for a moment, then said, "Molly Weasley killed Bella Lestrange."

"Well good for Molly!" Hagrid beamed. "I always figured she had it in her. Why's that making bells ring?"

"Hagrid, I need to find out if Rabastan and Rodolphus were here. I need to know if they were killed or captured."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know where they are. I don't recall seeing or hearing about them for the longest time, and I didn't see them with the Dark Lord. If they weren't here… I don't think I can tell anyone what I was doing for Dumbledore. If he doesn't know already, Rodolphus is going to learn that Molly killed Bella, and then he won't rest until he takes his revenge. He and Rabastan will go after the Weasleys."

"And y're planning to keep yer Death Eater credentials so ya can stop 'em? But how, if I may be so bold, are ya going t' stop 'em if y're locked up in Azkaban or dead? Ya know what I think? I think ya got so used t' this undercover spy business that ya ain't got the faintest idea how t' live like a normal person. That's the thought that scares ya."

Snape settled more deeply into the comfortable warmth of Hagrid's coat. For the moment he was safe, and the exhaustion was taking over. "Hagrid," he murmured drowsily, "I don't think there was ever a time in my life when I knew how to live like a normal person."

It was two o'clock in the afternoon before Snape woke, parched with thirst and ravenously hungry. In all that time, Hagrid had not moved.

"What time is it?" Snape asked, and then immediately added, "Is there anything to drink?"

"I'll check," said Hagrid, and went to the door. He returned a few minutes later looking perturbed. "When's the last time ya had somewhat t' eat or drink?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," said Snape. "Maybe thirty-six hours."

"That ain't good," said Hagrid, and went out again while Grawp stood guard at the door. When Hagrid came back the second time, he was angry.

"They say you got to wait your turn," he grumbled. "It's been hours and hours, with a hundred house-elves and a passel of healers here from St. Mungo's and they still ain't got t' your turn yet." Hagrid looked as if he might personally raid the Hogwarts kitchens.

About five minutes later, Potter came into the room with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall. None of them looked pleased. Snape assumed this had something to do with the request for food.

"If you are well enough to eat," said McGonagall crisply, "you are well enough to answer questions." She sat in one of the chairs, Shacklebolt beside her, while Potter once again sat on the edge of the table.

"He needs a healer t' take care of some broken ribs," said Hagrid, moving closer to Snape.

"Mr. Snape," replied McGonagall, "is capable of speaking for himself. "You may wait outside in the entrance hall, Hagrid."

"Begging your pardon, Professor, but Prof… eh, Mr.… eh, Severus here, he's got broken ribs, and been bleeding under the skin, and may have internal injuries, and if he ain't going t' get a healer in here right away, like he should have got this morning, I think I'd better stay. I at least got some experience taking care of creatures."

McGonagall whispered to Shacklebolt, and after some apparent disagreement she said, "Very well, Hagrid, you may stay. Mr. Snape, if it is not too much trouble for you to stand."

Hagrid helped Snape get to his feet, an action that was clearly painful, then stood by him just in case Snape needed more support. Snape waited in silence, volunteering nothing.

"Mr. Snape," Shacklebolt began, "I must first advise you that we have not yet reached a decision as to what we are to do with the captured followers of the man who called himself Lord Voldemort. I'm certain you can appreciate that the Ministry of Magic is in some disorder, and until things return to normal there, we aren't in a position to place any of you into the Ministry's custody. Do you understand?"

"Are you asking if I understand the words, the situation, or the implications for my future?" Snape didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "If the first, I assure you that there are a few multi-syllabic words that I am familiar with…"

McGonagall snapped, "Severus!" at the same time as Shacklebolt's cautionary, "Mr. Snape, I would advise…" while Potter slid off the table to confront Snape face to face.

"You'd better weigh your words carefully, Snape," Potter said. "Your welfare depends on us."

They were of almost identical height and build, Snape just a touch thinner, and they took the measure of each other eye to eye. Snape was closed tightly down, though that was hard to maintain while looking into Lily's eyes.

"My welfare." Snape drew the words out slowly, insultingly. "Odd how I can't recall one single authority figure, school or Ministry, even in evidence, much less trying to restrain a lynch mob. Further, I have been denied medical attention, food, and even water. If you stopped caring for my welfare, things might actually improve."

"You are," said Shacklebolt, "a rather special case. First, you have been revealed to have been a double agent, pretending to work for Albus Dumbledore when you were in reality still loyal to Lord Voldemort. Second, you stand accused of the assassination in cold blood of Albus Dumbledore, something I doubt anyone will ever forgive you for. Third, you enforced the regime of Lord Voldemort in Hogwarts, and are personally responsible for inflicting harm, both physical and emotional, on a large number of students, whose parents also will not lightly forgive you."

"There is more," said McGonagall. "If you examine his wand, you will find that he participated in the torture and murder of Rufus Scrimgeour, and that he killed Alastor Moody."

Shacklebolt and Potter were both taken aback and unable to speak for a moment. Only Hagrid seemed to take this information calmly.

Potter turned back to Snape. "I say we tell everyone we have no grounds to hold him and we're releasing him at five o'clock. Then at the appointed hour we toss him out the door, sit back, and watch the show. That would solve all our problems."

"Harry," said Shacklebolt sternly, "remember your own words. It's our job to see that justice is done."

"Oh, that would be justice," Potter replied. He returned to his perch on the table.

"Harry," Hagrid ventured, "ya got t' see there's more here than he can…"

"Shut up!" Snape spat at him, and Hagrid was quiet.

Shacklebolt looked from Harry to Hagrid to McGonagall. "This is most odd," he said at last. "A man teeters on the very brink of destruction and silences the only person kind enough to speak up on his behalf." He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Severus Snape, did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"Tell him why, lad!" Hagrid pleaded.

"Did you kill Alastor Moody?"

"Yes."

"Did you participate in the torture and murder of Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Yes. I also was a witness at the murder of Charity Burbage."

"Lad, ya can't do this without telling them why!"

"By all means, listen to Hagrid," said Shacklebolt. "Or maybe I should ask the question. Why?"

"I was obeying orders."

Twin expressions of disgust exploded from McGonagall and Potter. Shacklebolt looked grim. "Why is that always their excuse? They're never responsible for their actions. They're always obeying the orders of their boss."

"No!" Hagrid interjected. "You just get him to tell you whose orders he was obeying. Just do that!"

"Hagrid! Keep out of this! It's none of your business!"

Hagrid wheeled on Snape, towering over him like a mountain. "None o' my business! None o' my business! Listen, ya skinny little runt! I been taking care o' yer scrawny carcass for nigh on twenty-six year, and if you ain't the blame-all cussedest, stubbornest, pig-headedest little runt puppy…"

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Potter. "What do mean you've been taking care of him…"

Hagrid faced Potter with an apologetic smile, "Oh come now, Harry. Ya can't stand there and say ya honestly thought ya was the first."

Shacklebolt stood, and from his own impressive height looked up at Hagrid. "Rubeus Hagrid," he said, "do you know whose orders Severus Snape was following when he killed Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, and when he assisted in the deaths of Charity Burbage and Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Sure I do," cried Hagrid. "He were obeying the orders of Professor Dumbledore hisself. Except for Moody. I don't know exactly what happened with Moody. But Professor Snape could tell ya that if ya asked."

Behind Hagrid, Snape leaned against the wall and let himself slip to the greater ease of the floor. Once there, he cradled his head in his hands.

"Is this true?" McGonagall demanded. "Why did ye no' say anything?"

"If you recall," Snape sighed from the floor, "I did ask you to let me explain."

"Och, aye. And I wouldna listen."

"Why," asked Shacklebolt, "would Professor Dumbledore want you to kill him?"

"I know," said Potter, and they all looked at him in surprise. "It was so he would become the master of the Elder Wand." He turned to Snape. "It was his hand, wasn't it. He said it was nothing, but I could tell…"

Snape stared blankly at Potter, and so the boy continued. "I could feel him… Voldemort… Sometimes I knew what he was doing. I knew he sent Malfoy to find you, so I went into the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. I saw your duel. I saw him defeat you. That was when I knew I'd win because I knew Draco'd disarmed Professor Dumbledore before you got there."

Still Snape said nothing. Potter swallowed nervously. "Sir," he said, "do you know who sent me the patronus… the one that told me what to do to beat him?"

"Yes," Snape said simply. He did not elaborate.

After a moment, Potter said, "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"It would not be wise."

"You're hardly in a position to decide what's…"

"For goodness sake, Potter! Sometimes I think you haven't got the brains God gave a sheep!"

Hagrid's fist came crashing down on the table, sending splinters flying. "I swear I'm gonna truss ya up 'n throw ya t;' the wolves m'self! Why do I keep building bridges 'n you keep knockin' 'em down? Speak civil t' the boy!"

Potter contemplated the image of a furious Hagrid, then glanced down at Snape leaning wearily against the wall. "That's all right, Hagrid," he said quietly. "It's all he's got left. I guess I should expect him to use it."

Squatting on his heels in front of the seated Snape, Potter studied his face. "Look at you. No wand, locked in a little room like a dog in a kennel, tired, hungry, thirsty, hardly able to move – did you know your face was all scratched up? No master, no position, no future. Only one person in the whole world ready to lift a finger for you… But you have to show us you're not beaten, so you use the only weapon you have – that tongue of yours. Why? Because I reminded you that I have all the power, and you had to show me that I'm not your master yet. I admit you've got guts. So tell me, why am I so stupid?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, but there was no point in arguing the issue. "It isn't over yet," he said. "It's far from over."

"Voldemort's dead."

"He's not your only enemy. Especially not now. You've still got a lot to do."

"Advise me."

Snape looked past Potter's shoulder at Shacklebolt and McGonagall, but both seemed quite prepared to let Potter take the lead. "How many Death Eaters have you rounded up?" Snape asked.

"I haven't counted. A lot. There was a little army down the hill, and I think most of them got away. Should I worry about them?"

"No. They were just rank and file. They'll be thankful just to go home and hide. I was thinking more of the upper levels."

"Bella Lestrange is dead. We're holding Thicknesse and Malfoy separately. Then there's the Carrows, Greyback, Macnair, Yaxley, Dolohov, Rookwood…"

"Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Crabbe's dead. Goyle's with Draco."

"With Draco?" Snape's confusion lasted only a few seconds. "No, I mean their fathers."

Potter knitted his brows. "No, we don't have them."

"What about Avery?" Snape continued. "Or Nott? Jugson? Rowle? Selwynn? Travers?" As Potter shook his head, Snape tried to take a deep breath, failed, and then said, "And what about Aloysius Mulciber and Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange?"

Potter stood and crossed the room, pacing now. "You think they're all dangerous?" he asked.

"Not all of them. You don't have to worry about Jugson and Nott. Crabbe and Goyle are like their sons, they'll follow Malfoy's lead if you can get Malfoy to them. The dangerous ones are Mulciber and the Lestranges, who could gather the remnants of those who escaped and strike back."

"Why would they do that?"

"Molly Weasley killed Bella Lestrange. You don't know Rodolphus. He's not going to rest until he avenges his wife's death. The whole Weasley family's in danger as long as Rodolphus is free. If he's got Rabastan, Mulciber, and the others with him, that's a formidable team."

"And you're offering to go back into the fire to find them and stop them. You must love punishment. Or is this a ploy to get us to let you go, and then you run?"

Snape shrugged. "Suit yourself. It happens that I have my own grudge against the Lestranges and Mulciber. It also happens that my Death Eater credentials are still good. To all appearances, I was fighting for the Dark Lord to the end. I was nearly killed by a lynch mob, and I'm a prisoner. If you don't want to use me, that's your decision. I'm just telling you what's there."

"Let me think about it," said Potter.

"Now," Hagrid insisted, "what about a healer?"

"I'll get one of the people from St. Mungo's," said Shacklebolt.

"No," Snape said. "Better Madam Pomfrey."

"Why her?"

"She already knows. She's been patching me up for years."

On the other side of the room, Potter raised his hands to the ceiling in mock frustration. "Is there anyone at Hogwarts besides me who didn't know?"

Hagrid laid a hand on Potter's shoulder. "Ya knew, Harry. Ya knew when ya saw the mark on his arm and heard Professor Dumbledore send him back to You Know Who. Ya just didn't want t' believe it."

"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey," Potter said, and left the room.

"I'll get some food in here," said McGonagall, and went to deal with house-elves.

Madame Pomfrey arrived a few minutes later with a bone-mending potion. Potter took a little longer, but was there before the ribs had finished knitting. "Now," said Pomfrey, "about the hematoma and the bruising…"

"I think you should leave it alone," Snape told her.

"Are we having another of those 'I'm-all-right, I-can-take-the-pain' conversations, because if we are…" Pomfrey looked positively threatening.

"No! No," Snape assured her. "I don't want the pain. You can have the pain and welcome. It's just that it might help keep me alive if there was some residual evidence of mistreatment at your hands. I could say, 'See, they hated me so much they wouldn't treat my wounds.'"

"He has a point," said Shacklebolt. "What were you thinking of?" he asked Snape.

"Make sure everything's all right internally and reduce some of the swelling. Leave the bruise. It's pretty impressive. Also leave the abrasions from the rope around my wrists, and the – you said my face was scratched?"

Madam Pomfrey fished in her ample pocket for a small mirror. Snape glanced at it. He had long scratches on his forehead and left cheek. "That should help," he said.

Opening a jar of salve, Madam Pomfrey instructed Snape to unbutton his shirt, at which point everyone agreed that the bruise was very impressive indeed.

"What in the world caused that?" Shacklebolt asked.

"I don't know," said Snape. "I saw black and gold, and then I was slammed against a table, and then I was out like a light."

Hagrid laughed. "It weren't no wizard slapped ya, lad. Ya got knocked out by a house-elf. Y're lucky y're alive."

"I guess so," said Snape, surveying his bruise with renewed respect.

McGonagall reentered the room. "Since we have you," she said, as sweetly as if she had not, an hour earlier, been planning to have Snape executed, "would you mind telling me the password for the Headmaster's office?"

"It's Dumbledore," Snape told her.

"It can't be," said McGonagall. "I actually thought of that. It didn't work."

"It could be his way o' trying to help you," Hagrid said to Snape.

"What do you mean? How would locking the door help me?"

"Well, if no one else can unlock the door, then they'd have t' bring you there t' do it, and he could see ya was all right."

"Who would see he was all right, Hagrid?" McGonagall asked.

"Why, Professor Dumbledore, of course."

"What!" chorused four voices.

"Well, he's been that worried ever since Professor Snape walked out o' the office and didn't come back. There's no pictures in this room to let him see what's happening, but I'll wager he knows about the rope party this morning…"

"Do you mean to tell me," cried an irate McGonagall, whirling on Snape, "that Albus's portrait's been talking to you when it would never talk to me?"

"Well actually, I didn't mean to tell you anything," said Snape. "It's Hagrid who's been doing all the telling. You mean he never talked to you at all? No wonder… I mean, I was pretty disappointed when you wouldn't even listen to my explanations, but then when you tried so hard to kill me…"

"Wha-!" exclaimed Hagrid, but Shacklebolt and Pomfrey both shushed him. This time it was Potter who seemed unsurprised by the turn of events.

"Kill you! I never did!" McGonagall insisted.

"Oh no? Tell that to the suit of armor I had to use as a shield so as not to injure Potter over there. It had twenty knives buried that deep in the metal…"

"He's right, Professor McGonagall," said Potter. "You did try to kill him." He looked over at Snape. "How did you know I was there? And did you know you threw that suit of armor right at me?"

"Oh, sorry about that. That's what you get for wearing an Invisibility Cloak. And I knew for two unimpeachable reasons. The first is that I felt Alecto Carrow – it was Alecto, wasn't it? – send for the Dark Lord. She'd never have done that unless she'd seen you in the castle. Second, there's nothing that could force Minerva McGonagall to descend to the level of homicide except maternal instinct. You, woman, were protecting someone." Snape shook his finger at her in admonition.

"At least ye got away, laddie. And I'd be grateful if ye taught me that flying trick."

"Flying? I can't fly. Oh! you mean… That was an Accio spell. Luckily I was seen when I went out that fifth floor window…"

"You jumped out a fifth floor window!" Hagrid screamed. "That's a hundred 'n fifty foot…"

"Well so would you if you were being hunted by crazed old ladies with an arsenal of knives in their spell books…"

"Who are ye calling an old lady, laddie? That's one ye'll pay for!"

Harry Potter plopped himself down cross-legged on the floor and began to laugh uncontrollably. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he gasped, "How come I never heard you talk like this before?"

"Like what, child?" snapped McGonagall, clearly offended.

"Like people!" Potter crowed, and began laughing again.

"Potter," Snape intoned in his best you-are-all-dunderheads voice, "look around you. What do you not see?"

"I don't know, sir. What don't I see?"

"Students, Potter. You do not see students. Teachers never talk around students the way they talk when students are not present. Now control yourself or we shall be forced to notice that you are not yet a stone's throw away from being a student yourself."

Potter subsided with ill-concealed amusement. Snape turned back to McGonagall. "I am not about to struggle up eight long flights of stairs after a fast that is now approaching forty hours. What happened to the food that you supposedly went for?"

"Oh, that," said McGonagall, and she clapped her hands and cried, "Food, please!"

A house-elf materialized with a tray of sandwiches and butterbeer, a house-elf that was vaguely familiar to Snape. Snape, it appeared, was well-known to the house-elf, who took one look at him and slammed the tray to the floor, causing sandwiches to jump onto the flagstones and butterbeer to slosh from its pitcher.

"Kreacher!" Potter cried. "You will be polite to this wizard."

Kreacher bowed. "If master wishes," he said, "but this is no nice wizard. This wizard tried to kill Harry Potter. There, in the Great Hall, this wizard raised his wand to kill Harry Potter while Harry Potter spoke with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But Kreacher was faster. Kreacher blasted him before he could strike."

"Tried to kill me," said Potter slowly. All levity was now gone from his face and his manner. "Why would you try to kill me then, when all was won?"

"It wasn't won," Snape replied, facing him. "Dumbledore told me you had to die before the Dark Lord could be killed, and there you were not dead. I couldn't let him survive your attack to return again more powerful than before."

"But I'd already died. Died and been allowed to come back. I explained that."

"I didn't know," said Snape. "I was unconscious for that part."

"You were ready," Potter persisted, "to kill me – kill me! – because of the gaps in your understanding?"

The two were squaring off again. Snape had become cold. "Wasn't that exactly the same reason why you were ready to kill me?" he said.

Hagrid stepped between them. "We ain't discussing it here. You two lads are going upstairs and we'll discuss it where Professor Dumbledore can hear and see."

"I'm going to eat something first," said Snape, turning his back on Potter and reaching for the pitcher of butterbeer and a cup that had fallen off the tray onto the floor. Desperately thirsty, he poured and drank one cup, then another, and then he took the two sandwiches that had managed to stay on the tray when Kreacher dropped it, the pitcher and the cup, and sat next to the table in the chair that McGonagall had used.

Shacklebolt took both McGonagall and Potter by the arm and steered them out the door, Pomfrey following and Kreacher strutting behind. Snape and Hagrid were alone in the room again. Neither spoke as Snape ate his meal with deliberate slowness. The sandwiches were delicious, and it was only as he chewed and swallowed that Snape realized how hungry he'd been.

"Ready?" Hagrid asked when he'd finished.

"As I'll ever be," Snape replied.

Hagrid went to fetch the other three, and as they came into the room, Potter held out a small bundle whose fabric shimmered in the light. "It's best if you put this on," he said.

"I hate that thing," said Snape.

"You hate an Invisibility Cloak? Why?"

"It's a long story." Snape picked up the cloak between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it so that its iridescent folds cascaded to the floor. Then, with a sigh, he swung it around his shoulders. They were right. It wouldn't do to be seen walking through the corridors of Hogwarts – not if he was going to try to find the Lestranges.

The group made its way up to the seventh floor in a little procession, McGonagall leading, Snape in the middle, Potter and Hagrid on either side, and Shacklebolt to the rear. It kept anyone from accidentally bumping into Snape, and it also kept Snape from escaping. No one was near the corridor that went to the gargoyle staircase.

In front of the others now, Snape stepped forward and removed the Invisibility Cloak. Before he could say anything, the staircase began to open for them.

"It looks as if you're still headmaster," said McGonagall primly, and the party mounted the stairs and ascended to the oaken door that swung open to admit them.

"Severus!" cried portrait Dumbledore, beaming with delight. "It is immensely satisfying to see that you are alive and apparently well. I must say that you gave us a bit of a scare." Further along the wall, Phineas Nigellus was doing some kind of victory dance. The other portraits were a bit more sedate, but all seemed pleased.

McGonagall stepped forward. "Headmaster," she began, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop her.

"I am Albus," he said, "or Professor Dumbledore. The Headmaster is standing behind you."

Potter strode to the front. "Aren't you pleased to see me, too, Professor? Didn't I give you a bit of a scare?"

"Well yes, of course, Harry," the portrait assured him, "but I have a faint recollection that you and I have already spoken. Something about a railway station, was it not? And we have been watching you all day, so we knew you were fine. The last time we saw Severus, on the other hand, he was standing on a table with a rope around his neck. I am sure you can understand why we might have been concerned for his welfare."

As Potter thought about this, Dumbledore looked over at Snape. "You are amused, Severus?"

Startled, Snape shook his head. "No, sir," he replied. "It's just that I never…"

"Realized that Harry is just as jealous of you as you are of him. Oh yes. He has never understood why I trust you so. It is natural in the youthful to forget that the world existed before they were born, and Harry never has focused on the fact that I have known you, taught you, and worked with you for nearly twenty-seven years now, and that I might have a tiny glimmer more insight into your character than he does."

"Unlike some people." Snape glared at McGonagall, who wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Why would Professor Snape be jealous of me?" Potter asked.

"Why, you supplanted him. You do not honestly think that you were the first student in whose education I took a personal interest?"

"That's what I told him, Professor," cried Hagrid. "That's just what I said. There's two lads here, not just one."

"No," Potter said. "No, I was the one mentioned in the prophecy. It was because Voldemort tried to kill me and failed. That didn't happen to him."

Portrait Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Lord Voldemort…" he began, then looked over at Snape. "I hope I caused you no discomfort, Severus."

Snape glanced at his left arm. "No, sir. People have been saying his name all afternoon, and I haven't felt a thing."

"That is excellent news! Now, Harry… Lord Voldemort returned nearly ten years before you were born, and nine before there was a prophecy. Just the year before Severus started school, in fact. I knew from rather early on that Severus might have an important role to play, for he was a most disturbingly unusual child. In some ways very like Tom Riddle had been, in some ways very like you turned out to be, and in some ways uniquely himself. Just as there are things about you that are reminiscent of Tom."

"That was because of the soul fragment," Potter said glumly.

"Yes, but it fit a pattern. Harry, Severus has been helping you more than you know. It was he who figured out how to get Gryffindor's sword to…"

"Professor," Snape interjected quickly, "you promised."

"Be at ease, Severus. Harry, if you ask your friends how they came up with the idea of trying to steal Gryffindor's sword, they will tell you it came from Luna Lovegood, who claimed to be in communication with me via a chocolate frog card. That was Severus's idea, for he realized that the cards were also portraits. He made certain they were not severely punished for the act, and it gave us the chance to hide the real sword and put a duplicate in a place where Voldemort would think it secure. I thought it was a brilliant plan, and it worked quite well."

"That reminds me," said Potter. "Professor, will you tell me who else has been helping me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The sword, sir. Someone else showed me how to retrieve the sword, and the same person delivered your instructions on what I was to do to get rid of the soul fragment that made me a Horcrux. Someone with a patronus in the form of a doe. It spoke with a female voice."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, glancing over at Snape. "I find that very interesting."

Shacklebolt spoke up. "I only knew them for a short time before they died, but weren't James and Lily Potter's patronuses a stag and a doe?" He turned to Potter. "I think you've seen mine – it's a lynx."

"Mine is a cat," said McGonagall. "Obviously."

"Mine's a fox," Snape said quickly. "I don't think I've ever sent it to either of you, but Lupin would have seen it. He could tell you."

There was silence then. Ominous silence. It was McGonagall who told him. "Severus, Remus Lupin is dead. He died yesterday. Tonks died with him."

Snape could feel the blood draining from his face, and he groped his way to a nearby chair and sat heavily down. "Who else?" he asked after a moment.

They told him. They told him of Fred Weasley and Colin Creevy, and of all the others whose bodies had lain in the Great Hall. They gave him a few moments to take it all in while Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Then it was my mother. How could she be helping me? I thought only the living could conjure a patronus."

Dumbledore sighed. "I shall tell you the truth, Harry. I do not know how a doe patronus might come to you speaking with your mother's voice. If I find out, I shall tell you."

"There is another, more urgent matter," Shacklebolt said, reminding them of the seriousness of their conference. "Professor Snape believes that the Weasley family is in grave danger from Rodolphus Lestrange and other Death Eaters who were not in the battle here. He's certain that the Lestranges will try to avenge the death of Bellatrix."

"Ah!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "So that is why you approached the gargoyle staircase wearing the Invisibility Cloak. So, my spy, the frying pan was not hot enough for you. You are determined to climb back into the fire. You see, Harry, you are not the only one here with a complex about saving people."

Potter looked across the room at Snape, and there was speculation in his eyes.

It didn't take them long to work out a plan because there was little to work out, not having very much information to go on. Snape would be placed with the other captured Death Eaters, and in a day or two the lot of them would go to the Ministry of Magic. It was clear that Shacklebolt himself was in line to be the next Minister, and Gawain Robards was back in his position as head of the Auror Division. Both Dumbledore and Snape agreed that it was safe to bring Robards into the secret since both of them trusted him to be reasonable, fair, and professional.

After formal processing at the Ministry, the Death Eaters would be shipped to Azkaban, at which time a select few could be allowed to escape, Snape among them. The details could not be worked out until Shacklebolt had a chance to discuss the matter with Robards. They did all agree, however, that something would have to happen quickly as the Lestranges probably had plans under way. Meanwhile, the Weasleys had already been warned, and were taking precautions, aided by the Aurors.

"I should feel more comfortable if you had some way to keep in contact with us," said portrait Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, you could not take the picture with you. If it were discovered before you were firmly accepted by the Lestranges, it could jeopardize your mission."

"Not to mention my life," said Snape wryly, but he went to the desk and took out the little portrait of Dumbledore that he'd used to communicate before his appointment by the Board of Governors. He handed it to Shacklebolt. "We need to arrange some way for you to get this to me."

"I have an idea, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Do you remember the very first drop point you used, when you decided once for all to help us back in 1980? The one at Speaker's Corner where you left the information that saved Remus's life?"

"Of course." Snape turned to Shacklebolt. "You could leave it there. When I feel it's safe, I'll pick it up. You'll know when it's gone that it's nearly time to move." Snape drew a quick diagram on a scrap of parchment showing where the drop point was.

Then it was time to firm up the cover story. Hagrid did most of the honors, seizing Snape by the arms several times and squeezing his fingers into the flesh, then ripping the collar of Snape's jacket and shirt, and the seam of sleeve and shoulder, and even had Snape lie down so Hagrid could grip his ankles to make it look as if Snape had been dragged across the floor. While they waited for the bruises to form, Hagrid used a knife to make slashes in the left side of the jacket, telling Snape to hold his arm up as if defending his face as he sliced the sleeve, drawing blood twice, blood that he made sure stained the fabric of the jacket.

"Do you always have to do things… like this… when you go under cover?" Potter asked, fascinated by the detail of the preparations.

"Sometimes it is much worse," said Dumbledore from the wall. "When we knew Voldemort was coming back in your fourth year, Severus even had me cast Cruciatus curses on him so he could prepare for his reception, knowing that Voldemort would probably consider him a traitor and punish him. It pained me to do it. Not as much as it pained Severus, of course. Quite a horrendous experience for both of us."

"I never thought about that," said Potter. "Sirius always believed…"

"I know what Sirius Black believed," Snape growled. "He made it very clear."

"I need to ask you some things." Potter was watching as Hagrid removed Snape's jacket and shirt to check the progress of the bruising. Round purple patches were already beginning to appear on the pale skin.

"Why?"

"Because you could get killed, and then I'd never get the answers."

When Snape didn't reply, Potter continued. "When you told Sirius you thought I was going to the Department of Mysteries, did you goad him into going, too?"

"Goad him! I told him not to go, that he would be playing right into the Dark Lord's hands. Nothing could have stopped Sirius once he knew you were in danger."

"What exactly did you say to him?"

"As I recall, my last words were 'good luck,' and he said 'thank you.'"

"Why did you kill Alastor Moody?"

"He asked me to. For friendship's sake. It was preferable to the alternative."

"Time to go now lad," said Hagrid, replacing Snape's shirt and jacket. Using the Invisibility Cloak, they returned to the small room from which they'd started. One by one they shook Snape's hand, then Hagrid bound his wrists again and led him to the door.

Potter stepped forward. "Good luck," he said.

"Thank you," Snape replied, then he and Hagrid were gone.

xxxxxxxxxx


	2. Chapter 2

Astute readers will notice that this does not follow the timeline given in the Lexicon. It is not important to the story.

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 2**

The captured Death Eaters were being held in the unused classrooms on the ground floor on the other side of the castle from the Great Hall. As Hagrid pushed and shoved the stumbling Snape out of the little room used for the Sorting, people in the entrance hall saw them, and began to call out 'Murderer!' and 'Hang the Death Eater!' Those beginning to gather in the Great Hall for dinner came out as well, so that the sound of their hatred and mockery preceded Snape down the corridor, letting the other Death Eaters in the room know something was happening well before Hagrid opened the door of their prison and tossed Snape inside. Snape landed heavily on his left shoulder, and contact with the stone abraded the left side of his face. He lay quite still on the cold floor, breathing sharply.

The room was dark and bare. All the furniture had been removed and the windows boarded over. Nothing was there except the Death Eaters themselves and the clothes they were wearing. For several minutes none of them moved as Snape panted, gasped, and moaned slightly with the pain. Finally one of them crawled over to him. It was Walden Macnair.

"It's Snape," Macnair whispered to the others. "Looks like they worked him over."

"See," murmured a woman's voice – Alecto Carrow – "I told you he didn't go over to them. He could be too lax about discipline sometimes, but he was always loyal."

"I saw him try to get Potter and protect the Dark Lord," said another voice that Snape recognized as Antonin Dolohov's. "That's why they blasted him."

"Blasted old Snape," chuckled Macnair. "I'd 've liked to have seen that." He turned Snape on his stomach, and Snape cried out from the pain in his shoulder and in his bound arms. "You try not to move," Macnair hissed in Snape's ear. "I'm going to work these knots loose."

It was a task that took ten minutes, there being no tool or magic they could use to help. With his hands now free, Snape clutched at his right side, feigning more pain than he felt.

"Let's have a look," said Macnair as he unbuttoned the torn jacket and the slightly bloody shirt. "Merlin! What caused that?" He fingered the massive bruise with some skill. Such things were, after all, a part of his job.

"He… kicked… me…" Snape forced out between gasps. "He just… kept… kicking me."

"Who?"

"Potter."

Dolohov spoke with gritted teeth. "Saint Potter. Holy Harry. Bloody little sadist. He's no better than you are, Walden."

"Or you either," Macnair responded with a grin. "here, help me get these off and see how much damage there is. Not that there's a lot we can do, but we can at least staunch any bleeding and if he's got broken bones we can try to immobilize them."

Alecto and Amycus Carrow supported Snape's back while Macnair and Dolohov removed the jacket and loosened the shirt, then took off Snape's boots to check feet, ankles and legs. They noted the livid marks of cruel fingers, the scratches and the cuts. Macnair was fascinated by the scars on Snape's back.

"Those are old. Who did that?"

"Dumbledore," Snape lied. "Sometimes I didn't jump fast enough for him."

Macnair chuckled again. "I'm beginning to like him and Potter more and more. Seems we had a lot of common ground. Are you sure that wasn't done out of passionate affection?"

"Shut up!" Snape spat at him, and Macnair laughed.

They helped Snape into one of the corners and contributed coats and jackets for cushioning to ease the discomfort of lying on the bare floor.

At about seven o'clock the door opened, and Hagrid came in with two house-elves and five levitated trays of food. "Back against the wall," he ordered the prisoners. "You! Over there! And you! Move away from her! Ya make a move toward each other or toward me, and I'll blast ye."

The house-elves distributed the food, and Hagrid gestured at Snape. "What'sa matter? He ain't fit to sit up?"

"He was beaten up pretty bad," said Alecto, "but you'd already know that, wouldn't you?"

"I don't care how bad he feels," said Hagrid, "he's gonna eat. He ain't cheating us by dying premature, before he comes t' trial." He lowered his bulk next to Snape and pulled him into a sitting position. "You eat this polite now," he ordered, "or I'll ram it down yer throat."

Snape obeyed, exaggerating weakness, pain, and fear for the benefit of their audience, but managing to hold his fingers while drinking soup in a pre-arranged way that Hagrid would recognize as a signal that all was well. When the prisoners were finished eating, the elves took the trays and left. It was the first nightfall since the Dark Lord had died.

"We'll be patrolling," Hagrid warned them as he closed the door. "Just try and break out. Ain't nobody here wouldn't be glad of an excuse."

Up in the headmaster's office, a council of war was taking place. Shacklebolt was spending the night at Hogwarts, as he intended to help escort the prisoners to the Ministry of Magic the next day. Hagrid joined them fresh from his duty of feeding the captured Death Eaters.

"Is he all right?" the portrait of Dumbledore asked as soon as Hagrid entered the room.

"As right as could be expected, Professor," said Hagrid. "They checked him over and even tried t' make him comfortable. He gave me the signal, so it's all according t' plan so far."

"Well that's a relief, anyway," sighed McGonagall.

"It looks as if my appointment as Minister will happen within a week," Shacklebolt told them, having spoken with members of the Wizengamot by floo a half an hour earlier. "One of the first things I'll see to is convening the Board of Governor's to appoint a new head…"

"No!" cried a voice from the wall. "You can't do that!" All heads, including Dumbledore's turned to stare at a very flustered Phineas Nigellus.

"But Phineas," Dumbledore said kindly, "the business of the school must go on."

"Ha!" exclaimed Nigellus. "Solid experience beats out random genius once again! You haven't been doing this long enough, Albus, to have a feel for it. I have. I know the ropes!"

"The ropes, Phineas? Are you an aficionado of boxing? How droll. Pray tell, what have I overlooked?"

"Just this, Albus. We – you, I, Dippet, all of us – are bound to serve and protect the Headmaster of Hogwarts in any way we can. If a new headmaster is appointed, we'll have to wait for orders before we can do anything, but if young Snape remains headmaster, we can act independently, take the initiative as it were, in order to help him if he gets into trouble. You may have your portrait spread out over half Britain, but I'll wager my portrait is in the homes of more Death Eaters than yours is. Don't let them restrict my scope of action."

Shacklebolt was skeptical. "I would have thought you'd have been on the side of Lord Voldemort."

"You. Would… Me… On the…!" Nigellus spluttered. "You ignorant little whippersnapper! How dare you imply that the oldest, purest wizarding house in Britain would support a charlatan… How dare you! Just because a few of my descendants took leave of their senses!" Nigellus huffed a bit in his frame.

"Even if you are fool enough to question my sanity," he continued after a moment, "consider this. As long as Snape is headmaster, I can do nothing to harm him, and must strive to help and protect him. So your opinion of my politics is irrelevant. Do you want me to be in a position where I must help him at need, or do you want me to be in a position where I can lean back and say, 'I'm sorry, I'm waiting for orders'?"

"I see your point," said Shacklebolt apologetically. "It's definitely better that Snape officially remain headmaster, though we obviously won't make a public thing of it. I'll try to delay the meeting of the Board of Governors as long as I can."

"What's going to happen when they get to London?" Harry asked.

"There are holding cells in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Shacklebolt explained. "The prisoners have to be arraigned and charged. After that we'll ask for no bail and to have them placed in Azkaban pending completion of the investigation and setting of a trial date. They'll be in the cells for a few days before we'll be able to transfer them, but I'll speak to Robards as soon as I arrive to fill him in and be sure Snape isn't harmed by the other aurors. It could be hard. They lost several this time through, and they aren't going to be pleased with him. But it's safer to let as few people in on his secret as possible. I assume he's prepared for a rough experience."

Dumbledore sighed. "If you only knew how much that poor boy has already been through. The wizarding world is fortunate that he is not only willing, but feels obliged to spend himself in its defense. Rest assured that he is already familiar with the holding cells, and that he is prepared to endure a rough time if it will further his achievement of his goals."

"What've ye got planned for the escape?" McGonagall asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Shacklebolt answered. "That will depend on what Gawain… on what Robards can give us. He's the best judge of that. I'll advise you as soon as I know."

They agreed that there was nothing else they could plan for the moment. Hagrid went to his guard duty, and the others to their beds. Harry Potter joined his friends in the Gryffindor common room, and was toasted by all, but he remained uncharacteristically silent about what was going on. He got the decided impression that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were not at all happy with him. Luna probably wasn't either, but she was in Ravenclaw, and he didn't have to look at her accusing face all evening the way he did with the others.

Early the next morning, long before breakfast time, the door of the former classroom crashed open, and a group of aurors stormed in, each grabbing and restraining one of the startled prisoners. A moment later, Gawain Robards strode into the room. He first walked over to the struggling Macnair.

"Well, well. Walden. So good to see you again. I take it you've moved up from killing animals to killing babies. Pretty soon, if you're not careful, you'll advance to creatures that can fight back. I plan to be there to see it. And as I live and breathe, it's Antonin Dolohov. One of the very few for whom I could say that dementors in Azkaban were a good idea. We may even round up one or two for your benefit."

It was only then that Robards turned to Snape. "And the little Potions teacher. Not so young and pitiable now, are you? You're about to learn that it's not wise to kill the only person who ever stuck up for you. You slipped through my fingers sixteen years ago and more, but you're not slipping this time. I've got your old cell all polished and waiting."

With that, Robards and the aurors left the room.

Dolohov looked over at Snape. "He knows you. Why?"

"He was chief prosecutor at my trial."

"And they found you innocent? No wonder he's angry."

Snape shook his head. "No. They found me guilty. Then Dumbledore told them he needed me as a Potions teacher, so they gave me to him. One inch out of line and I'd start a twenty-year stint in Azkaban. Do you have any idea what it was like being a slave to Dumbledore for fifteen and a half years?"

Macnair laughed as he settled back onto the floor. "We got a glimpse of it last night. You must have hated that old man."

"Just about as much as I hated you, Walden. Just about as much as I hated you."

"Then it was an act of passionate affection! I'll console myself with that thought and continue dreaming."

"Get stuffed," replied Snape, allowing Lancashire to surface in his voice.

Hagrid and his house-elves came in then with a meager breakfast of bread and water which the five prisoners seized on with relish. Hagrid, elves, and trays were barely gone when the aurors appeared again, this time with magical handcuffs.

The prisoners were allowed to put on their coats and jackets, their shoes and boots, and then they were cuffed with their hands in front of them. One by one they were hauled out of the room to run a gauntlet of jeering wizards and witches, and then herded into a circle on the lawn in front of the castle. There were about two dozen of them.

The house-elves, in a spirit of jovial fun, had raided the kitchens for every piece of fruit and vegetable that had passed its prime (magically aging most of it to increase the supply) and distributed it to the crowd, which began to pelt the group of Death Eaters with rotten tomatoes and putrid peaches – and the occasional egg or two. This pleasant pastime was only stopped when the over-enthusiastic wizards began aiming at the aurors as well. At that point the prisoners were forced into a single file line and driven down the hill to the gate where they would be taken to the Ministry of Magic by side-along apparation.

Each Death Eater was assigned an auror. Robards himself came over to Snape. "I've given myself the pleasure of bringing in Dumbledore's murderer," he said. "You're coming with me." He pulled Snape away from the others, linked his elbow with Snape's, and spun. There was a pop, a nauseating whirl through space, and another pop at their destination.

It was not the Ministry of Magic.

It was, in fact, a perfectly normal-looking old barn, empty of animals but well stocked with equipment. In a month or so it would be well stocked with hay, but not yet. In the center of the barn was a table and three stools. Robards sat Snape on one of the stools. Five minutes later, Shacklebolt arrived. He was carrying a pensieve that he set carefully on the table. The two sat on either side of Snape. Shacklebolt unbound Snape's hands.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked, though the presence of the pensieve gave him an idea.

"Don't worry about the others," said Robards. "They're all isolated from each other in different parts of the Ministry, so the fact that you're not with them won't seem unusual. You're here because we've been asked to take a lot on faith. Too much, in fact."

"You see," continued Shacklebolt, "it occurred to me early on, and Professor Nigellus confirmed it, that the portraits are bound to help the headmaster. Not the wizarding world, mind you. The headmaster. It got me to wondering if this whole scheme wasn't something the portraits cooked up to protect you. Think of this as a verification of your role."

"What we want to see," explained Robards, indicating the pensieve, "is how Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour died. You may refuse, of course, but we would have to hold that against you."

Snape looked down at his hands. "I don't have a lot of choice, do I," he said quietly.

"Not really," said Robards. "You've confessed to murder in front of an auror. We have a witness who can confirm that the murder was committed with an Unforgivable Curse. Kingsley here may well become Minister of Magic in the next few days, but right now he's an auror, and I'm his boss. I'm not bound by any agreements he may have made in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. You're facing a long stint in Azkaban, and the only good thing about it for you is that there aren't any dementors there anymore. That could change, of course."

Shacklebolt laid a hand on Snape's arm. "Severus, we have a pretty good idea what we're going to see, at least if you told us the truth. But we need to be sure you told us the truth."

With a sigh, Snape nodded, and Shacklebolt took out his wand. It took but a moment to extract the first memory, then Alastor Moody's form floated in the pensieve. A Lumos spell from pensieve Snape's wand showed that Moody had been hit in the face by an Ignis curse. The right side of his skull was charred, the hair singed away, and the rest of his body had been broken by the long fall, yet he was still alive. Barely, but still alive. Pensieve Snape dropped to his knees next to the fallen man. The conversation between the two had been by legilimency contact, but the gravelly mind voices were audible to the two aurors, since this was Snape's memory.

_Get off me, you… boyo?_

_It's me. Can you move?_

_Where are they?_

_They'll be back soon. Let me help._

_No, no. I just always thought I'd go fighting, a wand in my hand. Not Moldyvort's plaything._

_Tell me what you want, and I'll do it._

_I couldn't lay that burden on you, boyo._

_And watching them kill you wouldn't be a burden? If you wish it, I'll do it._

_Bless you, boyo. I'll speak a good word for you when you come to the veil._

The words of the killing curse were soft and gentle, the tiny flash of green light hidden by the fabric of Moody's coat. Pensieve Snape rose slowly, calm and cool, to await the return of the other Death Eaters and his Lord…

Snape sat slightly hunched over on his stool, his arms folded across his chest. The other two stood, each for a few seconds laying a hand on Snape's shoulder as they moved away from the table to reflect on the death of a comrade. Robards returned first.

"It was a kindness you did for him," he said quietly. "Thank you." He retrieved the memory with his wand and returned it to Snape's brain. Shacklebolt rejoined them.

"Now," Robards continued, "the business of Scrimgeour's death."

"I don't want to see that one," Snape said, once again contemplating his hands, studying the rope marks on his wrists. "It was bad enough seeing it the first time, having it floating around in my head…"

"Why don't you go sit in a corner of the barn while we watch it," Shacklebolt suggested. "We don't need you right here once you've given us the memory."

"It isn't pleasant."

"We're not expecting it to be. You've told us your role. If you told the truth, it's not you we want to punish."

Snape surrendered his memory to Shacklebolt's wand, then removed himself to the farthest corner of the barn where he sat squeezed into the corner, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from the pensieve. Robards and Shacklebolt didn't watch the whole memory – it would have taken too long – but they saw what they needed to see.

When Snape returned to the table, Robards pulled a vial out of his robes. "May we keep this one?" he asked. "As evidence in the trial of a few other people?"

"Gladly," Snape said. "I don't particularly want that one back."

"That was an interesting combination of Death Eaters. Any reason?"

"Yes," Snape replied. "They'd all spent thirteen years in Azkaban in the company of dementors. The Dark Lord was counting on their enthusiasm for the job. I was there because he was testing my loyalty."

"Voldemort and Bella Lestrange are dead – most of them are, in fact." Robards ticked the names off. "We have Dolohov and Rookwood in custody. Of the murderers of Rufus Scrimgeour, only three are unaccounted for – Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, and Aloysius Mulciber. Gentlemen, I believe it is time to return to the Ministry."

The playacting started from the moment they reached the Ministry, for only Shacklebolt and Robards knew of Snape's true mission. Robards had cautioned his people not to rough the prisoners up too much, but had cast it more in the light of satisfying the judges than any sympathy for the prisoners. Snape, his hands once again bound in front of him, was led through the atrium and down into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stoically enduring the vilification of everyone they passed.

The holding area had been expanded to contained two dozen, but as yet only one of the metal-barred cells was occupied. It was Alecto, who'd been processed first since she was the only woman prisoner.

Snape was thrust into a cell that was mercifully shielded from Alecto's view, his clothing taken, and identifying marks and physical condition noted for the record. Then he was given black and white prison garb and a pair of loose slippers to wear.

Robards had stayed for the whole process, saying to the guards as he left, "I want healers down here now to patch him up. Under no circumstances is a judge going to see those cuts and bruises. I don't want any justification for clemency."

The healers were there in ten minutes. Meanwhile another Death Eater, one of the lower ranking ones, was brought in, examined, and given the striped pajamas and slippers to wear. By the time the healers had removed all traces of Snape's ordeal, there were ten Death Eaters in the cages.

"I see you're getting special treatment," Fenrir Greyback called to Snape.

"They don't want the judges to feel sorry for him," Alecto told the others, and then the guards ordered them all to silence.

The process of registering the prisoners continued until twenty-three were penned in the cells. Dolohov was on Snape's left, and Yaxley on his right, with Macnair's cage facing him. By this time it was well after noon, and the guards brought them bowls of soup and chunks of bread.

The only item in the cell was a bench, and Snape sat there to eat his meal. Now that the healers had treated his injuries, he felt reasonably comfortable. He was, in fact, better off than the others because he alone could look on this as a time to relax and rest. True that he had no privacy, but the guards were enforcing silence, so he didn't have to talk to the others either. All he wanted was to eat and sleep. He finished the soup and bread, placed the bowl where the guards could get it, then curled up on the bench and dozed.

The arraignments started at four o'clock. It was a déjà-vu experience for Snape, who halfway expected to see Judge Bones in the courtroom, and was depressed by the reminder that she had died two years earlier.

Judge Peabody was not sympathetic. "It's about time scum like you got what you deserve," was a fair summary of his attitude. The list of Snape's indictments, starting with the murder of Albus Dumbledore, amounted to one hundred forty-eight separate charges. The one that Robards left out was the death of Moody, since it could not be known to the Death Eaters at large that Snape had helped Moody escape Voldemort's wrath.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Monday, June 8, 1998 (two days before the full moon)_

Starting on Sunday, the aurors began pulling Death Eaters out of the holding block for interrogations. Snape's turn came Monday afternoon. They took Greyback at the same time since the werewolf was becoming increasingly agitated as the full moon approached. It was understood that Greyback would not return for several days. Snape didn't envy his handlers.

Snape's interview chamber contained a small table and chair for a stenographer, other chairs for the interrogators, and the prisoner's chair, which was equipped with arm and leg restraints like the accused's chair in the trial chamber. Snape's guards put him in the chair, and the chains wound around him and held him fast. When they were done, Robards entered the room. He'd brought no stenographer with him.

"You can go," Robards told the guards. "We're going to have a private chat."

"At least one of us should stay, sir," said a guard. "You might need assistance."

"No," replied Robards. "There are some things even Peabody can't turn a blind eye to. You're leaving. You can't be called as a witness to something you didn't see."

The guards nodded, grinning, and went out of the chamber. They'd return only when Robards sent for them.

"I can't unchain you," he told Snape, and it sounded almost like an apology. "It registers if the chains are moved. I wanted to let you know that we're moving you on Wednesday. There're twenty of you. Greyback's not going because he'll be transformed. Dolohov and Rookwood are staying here because of the Scrimgeour murder charge, though that's not the official reason. The rest of you are going in groups of five. You're moving with Yaxley, the Carrows, and Macnair."

"I don't want to go with Macnair," said Snape. "That man is crazy."

"True," said Robards, "but he was also a Ministry employee for years in the Magical Creatures department. He had to go into some remote places as part of his job, and we had to be able to get him out if he got into trouble. Of the lot of you, he's the one we can trace. I got the court order yesterday, and the trace was activated during this morning's questioning. I'll know where he is, and if you stay close to him, I'll know where you are."

"All right," Snape conceded, "what's the plan?"

"We've closed Azkaban to apparation, ostensibly for security reasons, but it gives us cause to move you on the water, by boat. The weather got rough up there yesterday, with heavy rain and wind from the northeast at near gale conditions, about thirty miles per hour. It's a bit lighter today, but looks like it will get worse tomorrow and Wednesday. We may have to do a little magic with the weather, but at most it will be a small push in the direction it's already going. You'll be setting out for Azkaban in a fairly small boat in storm conditions. Anything that happens can be blamed on the boat crew and the weather."

"Who's the boat crew?" Snape asked.

"We can't trust the secret to anyone else. It will me and Shacklebolt, but we'll be disguised by Polyjuice potion. There'll be one wand for the taking, and we'll be sure you're the one that gets it." He pulled a long, narrow box from his robes. "Try these and see if one works well for you."

There were half a dozen wands in the box. Snape tried all of them, but only one seemed to respond to his touch, and that not wholeheartedly. "This one, I suppose," he told Robards.

"The birch wand. Ten inches. I understand it has a mistletoe root heart." Robards looked sharply at Snape. "For preserving faith, I believe."

"It's been known to be used for that purpose," Snape responded.

They went over the plan carefully several times to be sure each understood what the other expected, then Snape was sent back to the holding pen.

The next day, Tuesday the ninth, two groups of Death Eaters, totaling ten people, were taken from the cells. They didn't come back. None of the guards would tell the rest where they'd gone, but the rumor quickly became Azkaban. The remaining prisoners could only wait. They were nervous, and it was nearly impossible for the guards to keep them quiet.

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_Wednesday, June 10, 1998 (the full moon)_

"On your feet, Death Eater," the guard snarled, striking Snape's arm with a rubber baton. It was early in the morning, well before breakfast time, but aurors were in the cell block, and the guards were bringing in handcuffs.

Snape rose from the bench where he'd been sleeping and let the blanket slip to the floor. There was no point in resisting, or even appearing to resist, so he held his hands in front of him and let them attach the cuffs. That done, he was led out of the cell block and down a corridor to a larger room. The doorway to the room had a strange shimmer around it, and Snape realized suddenly that it might be one of the few places in the Ministry to and from which the aurors could apparate. He had barely enough time to register this thought when he was seized by an auror, spun, and side-along apparated to a rain- and wind-swept cliff, and there hustled into a tiny cottage. Amycus and Alecto were already there.

The auror was greeted by a grizzled old man in a pea coat and naval cap, his chin sporting a scraggly beard. "Five again?" the old man growled, and spat onto the rough wooden floor of the cottage.

"And another five this afternoon," said the auror.

"Bad weather's coming up," said the old man, pulling a pipe from his pocket and a pouch of tobacco. "Not a good idea, going out on a sea like this."

Another old man, who might have been twin to the first, entered the room then. "'T ain't coming up, Charlie," he snarled. "It's been here three days now. We barely got that last boat in with the cargo alive and fit to offload. It's a fool 'd put to sea in weather like this."

Outside the wind howled around the cottage and sheets of rain pounded the windows.

"How strong you think it is, Pete?" the first old man asked.

"Must be forty-five, forty-seven knots. They'll have storm warnings out soon. Gale warnings went up yesterday."

"Look," the auror said, "you're being paid well enough to do this. These prisoners go today. There can't be any delays." Even as he spoke, another auror pulled Nigel Yaxley into the cottage. "If you're not seamen enough…"

"Oh, we're seamen enough, all right," said the one called Charlie. "Seamen enough to know a dangerous sea when we see one." He'd finished filling his pipe and now pulled out his wand to light it.

"They don't go today, and you don't get paid for any of it," said the auror. With that, Walden Macnair appeared with his escort. It was now five aurors to two seamen.

"All right, all right, but we have to go now. It'll only get worse if we wait." Pete opened the door, which luckily was on the lee side of the house or he'd have been blown back into the room by the gale. "If you can get them down the cliff without being blown into the sea, we'll get them to Azkaban."

From the moment they stepped past the shelter of the cottage, the aurors and their prisoners were pounded by the howling wind and the driving rain. Added to that a piercing cold that was plummeting toward freezing, and it was hard to remember that it was June. Fighting gale and deluge, the aurors dragged their charges away from the cliff and down a path that was longer but less steep to the water's edge. The sea was a churning cauldron.

"Untie us," Snape pleaded with his guard. "Untie us so we can hold on to something. If we're hit by one of those waves…"

"What?" the auror demanded, and it was clear he could hear nothing over the roar of wind and sea.

The five prisoners huddled together on the beach, the prison garb clinging to their bodies, soaked and useless in the torrent that the gale flung sideways at them rather than in a downpour. To face north into the wind was to be pierced by icy knives of water. Exposed there on the beach in their thin raiment, the Death Eaters had no protection from the storm. The aurors and the two seamen fared little better.

From the beach, a pier projected out into the water. At its far end, a boat was tied, a boat that swung back and forth in the waves. One by one, the Death Eaters were escorted down the pier, staggering and leaning into the wind to keep their balance, and taken below deck to be bound to benches in the hold. The aurors left, and the boat cast off from the pier. It soon became clear that even though the boat was magically powered, the storm was stronger. After only fifteen minutes, Snape began to seriously doubt Gawain Robards's wisdom in proposing this venture. At that moment he would have given anything to be guaranteed that they would arrive safely at Azkaban.

The play, however, was rapidly unfolding. Next to Snape, a porthole blew open, and rain water began to enter the hold. A wave hit the side of the boat, drenching everyone in the hold through the same porthole. The Death Eaters began to call out in alarm, and even though Snape reckoned the effort useless because of the noise of the storm, one of the two seaman brothers appeared and tried to close the porthole. The porthole that was right next to Snape.

Snape raised his bound hands, balling them into fists, and brought them down on the back of the seaman's head. He didn't hit hard, having no intention of hurting either Robards or Shacklebolt, but the man crumpled into a heap at his feet. It was a matter of seconds to fish the birch wand out of the man's robes, and a few seconds more to say the spell that opened the cuffs. By this time the other four Death Eaters were yelling and screaming at Snape, though he couldn't understand what they were saying over the tumult of the storm around them.

Clutching the wand, Snape fought his way against the wind onto the deck. The other seaman was waiting for him. It was impossible to tell if it was Pete or Charlie.

"Which one are you?" Snape hollered against the blast of the wind.

"Shacklebolt," the other yelled back.

"Robards is down, but I think he's pretending." Snape had to hold his mouth next to Shacklebolt's ear to be heard. "I didn't hit him that hard."

"I'll act dead," Shacklebolt screamed back. "We're running before the wind now, so we should hit the coast in a few minutes." He dropped down on the deck as if Snape had stunned him.

Snape struggled back into the hold. Four opening spells released four Death Eaters, but Snape told them to stay below deck. "I don't want you to be swept overboard," he shouted at them. "It'll be bad enough when we strike the coast. You may have to swim for the shore."

They hit shallow water fifteen minutes later, and everyone was thrown against the hull as the ship keeled over. Water began to fill up the hold, and Snape found himself screaming. "Get out!" he shouted. "Get out and swim for the shore! Move! You don't want to drown here!"

They moved and moved fast. Snape hesitated, but as the last Death Eater disappeared through the hatch, the seaman that was Gawain Robards opened his eyes, clambered to his feet in the rising water, pulled out another wand, and spun away to London. Snape leaped for the hatch then. He was the last. Just before he dove off the side, he saw the grizzled old man that was Kingsley Shacklebolt vanish as well. Then Snape was in the frigid water of the North Sea, battling his way towards the shore.

It was not the time to remember that he didn't know how to swim.

The key, as Snape realized later, was to let the wind and waves push you towards the beach while at the same time keeping your head above water. Most of it was survival instinct. Part of it was that they were close to the beach anyway. After fighting to stay above water, Snape suddenly found solid land under his hands and knees. He stumbled forward, peering through the driving rain to make out the four huddled forms on the sand. The others had all made it. He turned then, and watched in fascination as the waves pounded the boat into driftwood, thanking Merlin that he'd seen both Robards and Shacklebolt disapparate. The birch wand was still clutched in his hand.

Everything was going according to plan. Except, of course, that Snape was now soaked, exhausted, and in immediate danger of dying of hypothermia.

The fabric of the prison pajamas was light and thin. Dry it would have been no protection from the weather. Wet and cold, it was worse than nothing because it hampered movement. Snape stumbled across the hard, wet sand to the others and prodded each with an impatient bare foot. He'd lost the slippers in the water.

"Get up, you fools!" He tried to make his voice rise above the blast of the wind. "If you lie here, you'll die of the cold! Get up and away from the beach! Up!"

It wasn't really a beach, just a line of sand and shingle at the edge of a low ridge that faced the sea. Even though it was not yet mid morning, the storm clouds and the rain made it evening dark, and Snape had trouble seeing even twenty feet ahead of him.

"Get up!" he yelled again, and seized one of the Death Eaters. By great good fortune, it was Yaxley, who responded by shoving himself up onto his knees, and then staggering to his feet. "Help me get the others up!" Snape shouted into Yaxley's ear, and between the two of them, they heaved Macnair and the Carrows to their feet and shoved them toward the ridge.

The ridge was carved by gullies and ravines. It was simply a matter of following one away from the water and up onto the rolling humps of moorland, slipping and falling every few steps in mud and dirty water. It was a tired and bedraggled group that reached the top, buffeted by wind , drenched by rain, and shaking with cold.

"There's no shelter here at all!" Macnair shrieked into Snape's ear. "Why'd you bring us here?"

"Back into the ravine!" Snape commanded, pushing to make his order clear, and they slid down the rock and mud walls to a place that was marginally shielded from the wind and not swept by down-rushing water. There Snape used the wand he still clutched to conjure a shield, a small transparent dome that enclosed all five of them with some room to spare, and blocked wind and rain. Finally they were able to hear each other without shouting.

"What are you doing!" Macnair cried as Snape produced a small fire to warm them. "Do you want the whole Ministry on us!"

"And what Ministry would that be?" Snape asked, casting a drying spell on their clothes. "Because the only Ministry I know of thinks we're out in the middle of the North Sea beating our way toward Azkaban."

"But we just escaped!"

"And they don't know that, not yet. I figure it will be at least a couple of hours before Azkaban realizes that we're not coming. By then we could be long gone from here."

Yaxley and the Carrows were huddled around the fire trying to get warm. It was a tossup whether or not they were listening to the conversation.

"You," Macnair shouted, his face as livid with anger, "are going to get us captured again! Give me that wand! You aren't fit to lead us!"

"I think not," Snape said calmly. "First because I have the wand, and I am certainly not giving it up so that you can have power over me. Second because none of the others want you to have that power either. Third because I'm the only one who has a prayer of getting us out of this mess." As he spoke, Snape lifted the tip of the wand to point it square at Macnair's heart.

Yaxley spoke up then, turning neither his hands nor his face from the warmth of the fire. "I go with Snape," he said. "When the couple of hours are past, we're going to have to move magic-free. We're going to have to blend in with muggles. There's only one of us here who knows how to do that."

The Carrows chimed in so fast it was obvious they were just waiting to see where the true power lay. "Snape," said Amycus quickly. "We vote for Snape."

"There, you see?" Snape smirked slightly in Macnair's direction. "All democratic and above board. Not that it makes any difference. I am, after all, the one with the wand. Sit down, Walden. For crying out loud, get warm."

Macnair sat, and was soon huddling as close to the warmth of the fire as the others. "All right, hot shot," he said after a few minutes. "What are your plans?"

Snape had been thinking about this. In fact, he had been thinking about it for two days, but he wasn't about to tell the others that. "We have a couple of hours, but no more," he said. "We can't walk around dressed like this. Even muggles would recognize us as convicts. I can go and get us muggle clothing. What we need is a safe house. While I'm gone, the rest of you think of all the safe houses you were allowed to know about. We need one that the others won't be likely to spill to the Ministry about."

"You're leaving us here?" Macnair snarled. "How do we know you're coming back."

"Honestly, Walden," Snape replied, "it's a good thing you're too old to have ever been in one of my classes because you would have been the biggest dunderhead of all the dunderheads I've ever taught. If I was going to ditch you, I'd have done it on the boat. I'd simply not have unlocked your handcuffs and have left you to drown."

Macnair managed a grin at that. "You care," he leered. "So I can still hope."

Snape ignored him. "I'm leaving now," he announced. "I have to get you clothing, and we have to reach a safe house within two hours. After that, we assume the Ministry knows of our escape and will be searching for us and monitoring magical incidents. I assume I don't have to warn you to stay here until I get back."

If there had been any question of the others leaving, it vanished as soon as Snape made an opening in the shield. Howling wind and slicing rain rushed through the little campsite, and the four wizards held up their arms to protect their faces as Snape slipped out into the storm, spun around, and apparated to Lancashire.

It was raining there, too, though not as violently as in the far north. Snape made his way cautiously toward the edge of town from the moors, and was startled to see what appeared to be another person sitting in his area yard under an umbrella. It wouldn't do to be seen in soaking wet convict's garb by anyone anywhere, so Snape pulled out the wand and tried a transfiguration spell. He'd never been particularly good at transfiguration, but he did manage a pair of jeans and a jacket. His feet were still bare.

As he approached his own house, the figure in the area yard stood to meet him. A tilt of the umbrella revealed the spiky dark hair, glasses, and green eyes of Harry Potter. Snape stopped right there, outside his own property.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I made Hagrid bring me," Potter replied. "He didn't want to, but I told him you'd be safer if people like me knew where you were. He figured you might come home to get some things, so he brought me here. He left because he'd have been too conspicuous."

"Clever," said Snape, his voice showing that he meant the opposite. "What if I'd come with one of the others and they saw you sitting in my yard waiting for me? Plan scuttled on the first day."

"If I'd seen two," Potter said, "I'd have left before you got close enough to identify me." He looked around, at the moor, at the old houses and the ancient cobblestone street, at the chimney of the mill towering above the poor, working-class neighborhood. "Is this where you grew up?"

"You don't have to look like that," Snape snapped at him, advancing to the kitchen door.

"Like what?" Potter stepped back as if suddenly nervous.

"The way all 'respectable' people do in a lower class neighborhood. As if you smelled something bad. As if you were looking for the quickest way out. I grew up here, and I grew up hating that look." He unlocked the door, and the two stepped inside.

"You're not wearing shoes," Potter pointed out.

"Oh, really? Funny how I hadn't noticed that before. First things first, Potter. I'm going upstairs to put on some real clothes. You sit in that chair, don't go anywhere, and don't touch anything."

Potter sat meekly where he was told, and Snape returned shortly wearing a shirt and trousers, and carrying a warm coat. "I suppose you're expecting me to offer you tea," Snape said. "Well, I'm not going to. I haven't the time, and there isn't any tea. I have to collect clothing for the others and then leave as fast as I can. So you can just go back to Hogwarts. You've wasted your time."

"Maybe I can help," Potter suggested. "I know all about muggle clothes, too, you know."

It was true that the job would go faster with two. "All right," Snape agreed. "Come upstairs."

It meant taking Potter through the sitting room with its threadbare rug and shabby sofa, and up the stairs behind the bookcase into the front bedroom, his parents bedroom. Snape hadn't realized before how old and worn everything looked.

Potter looked around the bedroom at the crates and boxes that showed the room was used for storage. "You don't sleep here," he said.

"It was my parents' room, Snape admitted. "I preferred to stay in my own. He started pulling clothing from boxes and the wardrobe. Toby's clothes, Eileen's clothes, Wensley's clothes, Grandfather Ned's clothes. "We need things for both Carrows, Yaxley, and Macnair. You've seen all four of them, I think. Those were my father's. They should fit Macnair. We'll need several changes of clothing for each."

The two worked quickly. After a moment, Potter asked, "What happened to your parents?"

"They died in an automobile accident."

There was a pause. "That was what Aunt Petunia said happened to my parents."

"That sounds like something Petunia would do," Snape said without thinking.

There are some silences that are merely peaceful. Others speak of tenderness, or of sorrow. This silence was ominous, a panther poised to spring on unsuspecting prey. Snape felt the tension and looked around at Potter, who stood utterly still, staring at him.

"How do you know my Aunt Petunia?" Potter asked quietly.

Pitfalls and possibilities weighed themselves in the compartments of Snape's mind as he realized what he'd done and decided what to do next. The spy's dictum still held true. Stay as close to the truth as you can, and you are less likely to be tripped up.

"Didn't Professor Dumbledore ever tell you? She came from this town. She and I went to the same school, though she was in a higher class than I was… in more ways than one."

A grin twisted Potter's face. "Who's classier, Aunt Petunia or Professor Snape?" he pondered in mock puzzlement.

"Age and socioeconomic," Snape corrected him. "And never one to let you forget it." He continued going through clothing.

Potter nodded as if that was a Petunia he recognized. "Does that mean you knew my mum… my mother, too?"

"If by that you mean did I ever see a red-haired girl sitting in the same classroom at school and did I know her name was Lily Evans, then yes, I knew your mother." Snape glanced again at Potter. The boy appeared to be thinking – never a good sign.

"Three years ago," Potter said slowly, "I found out that Aunt Petunia knew about dementors and Azkaban. She said she overheard 'that awful boy' telling my mum about them. I thought she was insulting my father…"

"Maybe she was," said Snape.

"Maybe she wasn't," retorted Potter. "Did you know my mum well enough to tell her about the dementors in Azkaban?"

"This conversation," said Snape, fishing a big black trash bag out of a drawer and shoving clothing into it, "is boring. I have more important things to do, and not a lot of time to do them in. Get downstairs. You and I are both leaving."

"No!" Potter insisted blocking the bedroom doorway. "You know, a whole lot of people have managed to tell me a lot about my dad. Sometimes it sounds great, and sometimes it makes me angry, but everybody's been ready to talk to me about him. Nobody says much about my mum. And now I find out that all this time I've been at Hogwarts, there's been someone right near me who went to the same muggle school she did and talked to her about dementors. I want to talk to you about my mother!"

"I don't have the time!'

They'd reached another in a long string of impasses, and this time Potter backed down. "Please, Professor," he said. "There's so much I want to know. What marks did she get in school? Who was her best friend? What games did she play? You know some of that. Professor Dumbledore said you're going back into the fire. What if you get killed? Then I'll never know."

"I'll be sure to try not to get killed. I would hate to leave your curiosity unsatisfied."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course you did." Snape lowered the trash bag. "Listen, Potter. Right now, everyone but Shacklebolt and Robards thinks I'm on a boat in the North Sea heading for Azkaban. In about an hour, they're going to find out I'm not. They're going to start looking for me. They have to. First because if they're not looking for me, the people I'm trying to infiltrate won't accept me. Second, if Robards tells them not to look for me, they're going to guess what I'm doing. A lot of them may still secretly be on the other side. If they pass their doubts on, I could get killed. Now I know a few hours ago that thought wouldn't have bothered you, but I think now it might. In the next hour I have to get a group of semi-brain-dead Death Eaters off the coast of the Northwest Highlands and into a safe house where we'll be unable to use magic. If I can't accomplish that in the time allotted, you may never learn anything about your mother because I may well be dead. Now, are you going to stand aside, or not?"

Potter stood aside. Snape rushed down the stairs and out onto the rainy moors, Potter right behind him. Snape didn't go the way the way he'd come, from the west, but veered east, crossing a shallow river in a circuit of the small town. Then Snape stopped, and Potter stopped beside him.

"I'm going over there to disapparate," Snape told Potter. "Please don't try to trace me. Robards has everything well in hand, and you'll just mess it up. Now, turn around. Look over there. Do you see the house with the green trim around the windows and the white fence?"

Potter nodded.

"That was your mother's house," said Snape. He turned and walked away from Potter, who didn't look back at him. Snape found a spot he liked, spun, and disapparated. Potter never took his eyes off the house.

Even in the rain, Harry Potter heard the small pop of disapparation, and knew that Snape had gone. He turned slowly then and surveyed the open country that his mother would have seen from the windows of her house. In all the years of his life, he'd never once imagined that his mother and aunt would have come from the north of England. He'd just assumed Surrey and never checked.

Now he opened the umbrella and cast a quick drying spell on his wet clothes, then strolled as casually as he could toward the houses. The house Snape had pointed out to him was part of a row of cottages like a million others in England, made of nondescript stone with a low wall around the yard, except the current owners had supplemented it with white picketing. Harry looked at it for a while, but wanted to attract as little attention as possible, so he began to explore the streets.

There were a few people around, but Harry reasoned that most probably drove to larger towns to work and returned to their homes each evening. He found a deserted playground, not surprising given the weather, and a few streets nearer the river there was a school. It was early June, and the students were still in classes, further explaining the empty playground. Harry paused.

The school was an older building, somewhat shabby, and probably the same school his mother and Snape had attended. Harry didn't try to enter, but continued down the street toward the river. Closer to the bridge there was a large market, quite new compared to the rest of the town, and here Harry did enter, thinking to buy sandwiches to eat while he explored.

He was paying the cashier when he decided it wouldn't hurt to start asking questions, and as he was the only customer in the store, this might be a good time. "Excuse me," he said tentatively, "but I'm on a walking tour, and I stopped here because, well my mother's family came from here. Would you know if there were still Evanses in town?"

"Evans?" the woman replied. "No, I don't know anyone named Evans." She thought for a minute. "There's an older woman comes in every morning to pick up a few things. If you want to wait a bit, she might know. She's been here forever."

Harry occupied himself looking at magazines on a rack, and about fifteen minutes later a woman about seventy years old entered the store. She carried a cane and limped, but otherwise seemed sturdy and in good health. "Mrs. Hanson," the cashier said. "there's a young man says his mother's from here and wants to know if anyone remembers her. I thought you might know who he's talking about."

"I'll have a go at it, dear," said Mrs. Hanson as Harry came over. "What was your mother's name."

"Lily Evans."

"Lily… Lily… Not sure about a Lily, but there was a Harry Evans was a supervisor at the mill before it closed. Then he got work in Manchester, and finally moved away south. That would have been, oh… twenty-five years ago and more. He had children. Daughters, I believe. I didn't know them, though. Back then it made more of a difference which side of the river you lived on."

"My name's Harry. Maybe that's the family I'm looking for."

"Didn't you know your grandfather, dear? "

"No, they're all dead," Harry said. "Car accident when I was a baby. There's a lot I don't know."

Mrs. Hanson made her few small purchases. Harry watched her, then said, "Can I carry those for you? I'd like to ask a few more questions if you don't mind. I'll try not to be a bother to you, but you're the first person who's ever told me about this side of my family and…"

"Love you, dear, I'd be happy to, though I doubt as I could tell you much more of your family. I could show you the mill where he worked, though."

Together the two walked across the stone bridge to the older, working class side of town. The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle. Mrs. Hanson talked about the mill and the workers, and what it was like living in a poor little mill town after the war when everything was so scarce and you hardly ever saw eggs and to this day she hated the sight of powdered eggs… She showed Harry where there was a gap in the fence, and he slipped through to get a closer look at the mill.

"There's talk they'll go in and restore it next year," Mrs. Hanson said. "Put in a shop and open it t' visitors t' show what the old times were like."

The two continued along to Mrs. Hanson's house, and Harry realized he was near where Snape lived. It was another shot in the dark. "Ma'am," he said, "there was another name, someone my mother knew. Did you know a family named Snape? Sev…"

"Russ Snape!" It was clear she did. "Such a sweet boy, and always so polite and attentive. Eileen used t' send him over t' me when his dad was poorly, if you know what I mean. Love you, child, he still lives here. Not just now, of course, because he teaches at that posh school up in Scotland, biology or some such thing, but he should be back at the end of the month for his summer break if you could come back. If your mother was Harry Evans's girl, then she and Russ would've been near the same age, and he'd know who she was."

Harry stormed his way up into the headmaster's office the moment he arrived back at Hogwarts. "Why didn't you tell me?" he yelled at Dumbledore's portrait.

Dumbledore looked serenely out of his frame. "Which occasion are we talking about? There were several, you know."

"About my mum and Professor Snape!"

"Dear, dear," said Dumbledore. "This could be tricky as I have made promises. Would you mind telling me exactly how much you already know?"

"They grew up in the same town. They went to school together. Muggle school. Just exactly how much more is there to know, anyway?"

"I cannot tell you that, Harry. I promised Severus long ago…"

"Promised him you wouldn't tell me about my mother?"

"Promised him I wouldn't tell you about his private life."

"And his private life had something to do with my mother!"

"I cannot tell you that, Harry. It is not my story to tell."

"What if he never tells me? What if he dies before he can tell me?"

"It is good that you are finally developing some concern for Severus. He has worked long and hard behind the scenes, and deserves more care and respect than he has been given. I promise you that if he dies, I will tell you all that I know. He, of course, could tell you much more, so it is in all our interests that he not die. You must be patient."

Harry left the office, descended the gargoyle staircase, then went looking for an empty room on the sixth floor where he could be alone. He had to ponder every scrap of information he knew about Snape and his mother, try to assemble them into a story now that he had this startling new information.

Eileen Prince had married Tobias Snape, and they lived in a tiny, shabby cottage in a dilapidated, working-class section of a small town. Had Snape's father worked at the mill where Harry's grandfather was the supervisor? Harry recalled the images he'd seen in Snape's mind during their occlumency lessons – the angry father, the cowering mother, and the crying child. Was that what Mrs. Hanson meant about Snape's father being 'poorly?' That he abused his wife and son? Why would a witch endure a life like that? And the girl watching him try to ride a broom – could that have been Harry's mother?

The scene Harry'd watched in the pensieve came into focus then, how his mother had come charging to Snape's defense, and his father had promised to leave Snape alone in exchange for a date, and the shocked look on her face when Snape had called her a mudblood, as if it was the last thing she expected from him… And the nonverbal Levicorpus spell that the whole school had somehow learned in their fifth year… And Professor Snape just five days before, picking up the Invisibility Cloak with such distaste and saying how much he hated it…

Harry bolted from the room and raced down the stairs. The house-elves had been working hard, and the school seemed relatively normal, though empty of students, as he charged through the entrance hall and down the hill to Hagrid's hut, pounding on the door as if his life depended on it.

"Wha' the…" Hagrid started, but Harry was in too much of a hurry. "Tell me about my mum and Professor Snape!" he demanded, pushing past Hagrid into the hut. "Everything!"

"I don't know as that would be right, Harry. It ain't my story to tell."

"We're talking about my mother! I have a right to know about my mother!" Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Look, I saw him. I was inside the house helping him get clothes for the others, they've escaped. I know my mum grew up in the same town and they went to school there together. He knew Aunt Petunia. He showed me the house where they lived. I know about his father – how mean he was…" Harry swallowed then, for the next part was hard to say. "…and I know my dad was jealous because they were friends. But he didn't have time to tell me everything. They have to find a safe house before the Ministry learns they've escaped, so he had to go. So I'm asking you because… What if he dies?"

"Well, seeing as he's told ya all of that, guess it don't do no harm. They come on the train together, and it'd 've been better if they'd been sorted different 'cause back then the Gryffindor – Slytherin thing was worse 'n when you was here. They couldn't talk open, 'cause both houses 'd jump on 'em for it. She was real popular in Gryffindor and soon had new friends, but he got bullied in Slytherin for being a half-blood. That's when we found out about him."

"Found out what?"

"How talented he was. Had the boys in his dorm scared witless. Professor Dumbledore was scared for a while we had another Tom Riddle on our hands. Trouble is, so did Tom Riddle."

"I don't understand," Harry said. "Why would Voldemort care?"

"Some of them Slytherin boys had fathers with You Know Who. Word got out about this talented young wizard, 'n they started trying t' pull him over t' their side. That's when Sirius 'n yer dad got into it. They saw him as part of the Death Eater crowd. Young Severus, he had some strange ideas, I think it was from his own dad, but he wouldn't never go t' no authority if he had a problem with anyone. He thought he had t' handle it hisself, still does. He coulda handled Slytherin, too, but not Slytherin 'n Gryffindor both. Later, after he come back to us, I know he kinda blamed Sirius 'n yer dad for pushing him towards the Death Eaters."

"What about my mother?" Harry prompted. "Tell me about her."

"They used t' meet in secret and talk. Had this thing about the moon, too. Used t' go out with a telescope. I kinda got the idea it was more important for him than for her 'cause she had other friends, but he weren't never the kind t' make friends easy. Then something happened 'n they drifted apart in fifth year. Still friends, but not like before. Then she took up with yer dad, 'n his grandmother was killed…"

Harry was shocked. Not just at the idea that Snape's grandmother had been killed, but at the revelation of how much there was about all these people that he'd never known, never suspected. It had never crossed his mind that Snape had a grandmother. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Mob of muggles. Found out later they'd been Imperiused just to push him into You Know Who's camp, but that was the last family he had, 'n when he left Hogwarts he became a Death Eater. Woulda stayed a Death Eater, too, if it hadn't been for you. When he found out You Know Who was after Lily, I ain't never seen him so panicky. He 'da done anything. Then when she died…"

"What did he do?"

"Ya ever wonder why the Astronomy Tower was off bounds except during classes?"

Harry knitted his brows. "The rumor was that a long time ago a lovesick student tried to… No. You're kidding. He didn't."

"I didn't say nothing," said Hagrid, "'n you didn't hear it from me."

Harry returned to the castle. It explained a lot. It was a much better explanation for Snape's enduring dislike of Harry's father than simple jealousy of his Quidditch ability and resentment over a few pranks, and Harry wondered why Lupin had told him that when it was so clearly a lie. It also went some ways towards explaining Snape's dislike of both Harry and Neville. But why hadn't Sirius known before the end of Harry's fourth year that Snape had been a Death Eater?

There had been so many questions for so long. It was amazing to Harry that all this time the answers had been with the one man that Harry would have refused to talk to. He wondered what was happening to Snape at that moment.

xxxxxxxxxx

Snape had apparated back to the wind- and rain-swept ridge, depositing his bag of muggle clothing at Macnair's feet. "I took what I could find," he said, unwilling to tell them the clothes had belonged to his family. "I hope they fit." He helped them dress in the unfamiliar things, even conjuring a little privacy screen for Alecto, something that earned him a glance of respect from Amycus.

"Now," said Snape when five relatively normal-looking 'muggles' once again huddled around the magical fire, "where are we going?"

"Nigel knows a place in Glasgow," said Amycus.

Snape raised his eyebrows and looked over at Yaxley. "Why Glasgow?" he asked.

"We set it up after we moved headquarters to Birmingham," Yaxley said. "The place is untouched by magic. Even better, it's never been used, and only a couple of us ever knew about it."

"Then how can you be sure it's still available?"

"I got the idea from you, watching you in Birmingham. There's this muggle woman who gets muggle money every month from Gringotts. She has no idea who we are or where the money comes from, but she keeps the place ready. I used to check on it from time to time."

"Who else knew about it?"

"Gibbon, but he's dead."

"All right, we try Glasgow. Yaxley and I will go to check it out. If everything's in order, I'll come back for the rest of you."

Snape and Yaxley left the shield and side-along apparated to the roof of the New Barracks at Edinburgh Castle. There, Snape looked into Yaxley's eyes. "Show me where we're going," he said, and thirty seconds later they were in the Springburn district of Glasgow.

The woman, Mrs. Campbell, remembered Yaxley and confirmed that the rooms he'd been paying for for nearly two years were indeed ready to be occupied at once, no questions asked. The rooms were on the ground floor in the back of a Victorian block of flats built of reddish stone, and consisted of a small kitchen, a smaller bath, a sitting room, and two bedrooms, one larger and one quite small, all opening off one side of one long hallway. The windows of every room were protected by bars. Snape left Yaxley there and went out to find a convenient spot to and from which to apparate.

Snape brought Alecto next, not wanting to leave her alone with Macnair, an act which got him another nod from Amycus. After Alecto was securely in the safe house, Snape went for Amycus, and finally for Macnair. He was a bit nervous about the last apparation, but Macnair neither said nor did anything out of line. Removing all trace of their stay from the coastal area where they'd been stranded, Snape and Macnair apparated to Springburn.

Macnair looked around him with distaste as they crossed a street and headed toward the block of flats. "Muggles," he sneered. "How do you stand them?"

"I grit my teeth and think of my father. He was a muggle, you know."

"I heard a rumor to that effect," said Macnair. "It doesn't seem to have rubbed off on you, though."

Snape didn't reply to the comment. Instead he said, "You're going to have to act like a muggle if you want to stay alive and free and be able to get out into fresh air from time to time. Glasgow has its share of witches and wizards. If anyone notices you're not a muggle, we could all be in danger."

"How hard can it be?" said Macnair contemptuously.

"If someone comes up to you on the street and asks for a light, what do you say?"

"Lumos?" Macnair suggested.

"Not even close," said Snape, leading the way into the building and toward the back where their rooms were.

Macnair was not impressed. "This is tiny!' he exclaimed. "How are five of us going to live here?"

"Easy," said Snape. "Alecto and Amycus get the larger bedroom, you get the small one, and Nigel and I sleep in the sitting room. Problem solved." The sitting room held a table, and Snape pulled chairs up to it. "First muggle lesson is money," he announced.

Interestingly enough, it was Alecto who seemed to grasp the whole business of pounds and pence quickest, so Snape took her with him to go shopping. He'd remembered to bring his bank card, and Alecto was fascinated by the idea that one could receive money from the wall of a building. Then they went to a market. It was an experience.

"No!" Snape insisted, putting the colorful box back on the shelf. "We are not going to waste my money on laundry powder when I can take dirty things out, apparate to a safe spot, and clean them by magic. And put that down as well. It's for cats. We don't have a cat."

Alecto, it appeared, had all the qualities of a shopoholic. She wanted everything, and she wanted three of it. It was worse than shopping with a four-year-old child. Snape had hoped to teach Alecto how to do the shopping, but it looked more and more with every passing moment that the job would go by default to either Snape or Yaxley.

Coffee, tea, milk, sugar, a bottle of wine, sandwiches for lunch and the ingredients for beef Stroganov for dinner, that being a dish Snape could cook with his eyes closed. Fruit, vegetables, the makings of salad, and eggs, sausages, and bread for breakfast the next morning… Snape mourned over the bill. His carefully hoarded muggle bank account would disappear quickly under the strain of feeding five. _Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut and go to Azkaban?_

Back in the rooms with the others, Snape passed out the sandwiches and brewed tea. The hour and a half spent freezing in the storm turned out to be beneficial, since everyone appreciated the relative comfort of the safe house so much that this first day at least, no one complained. After lunch they pulled sheets, blankets, and pillows out of cupboards and drawers, and made up the beds in the bedrooms. There was a folded-up cot under one of the beds in the larger room, which Snape appropriated for himself. Yaxley would get the sofa.

Snape then spent the rest of the afternoon explaining things like electricity and gas, and why one should never stick the prongs of a fork into a socket, a lesson prompted by Amycus's sudden whim to do precisely that.

As dinnertime neared, Snape dragged Macnair into the kitchen. "Here," he said. "I'm actually going to trust you with a knife since you've probably had experience with one. Peel these potatoes and cut them into long thin strips." To Yaxley, Snape also gave a knife, and Yaxley sliced meat, onions, and mushrooms while Alecto washed salad greens and Amycus set the table. Then the four watched fascinated as Snape sautéed, seasoned, and stirred, turning the fruit of their labors into a meal that raised eyebrows, for none of them had ever suspected before that Snape could cook.

The sitting room also held a fireplace. Not a real one, of course, but metal shaped in the form of logs with gas jets that when lit looked remarkably like real flames licking real wood. The five settled down to eat, and Snape was raising his wineglass in a toast to their new haven when he almost dropped it from shock.

A green face had flit across the gas fire. A floo-green face that looked remarkably like Rabastan Lestrange and then was gone.

"Did you see that?" Snape hissed to the room in general, but a glance at Macnair told him at once that Macnair had.

"That was Rabastan," Macnair said quietly. "Nigel, is this place on the floo network?"

"I didn't think it was," Yaxley replied. "Does this mean we're in trouble?" He was staring at the little gas fire as if expecting Lestrange to walk out of it that moment.

"Could be," Snape said affecting a calm he didn't really feel. "The Ministry can monitor all the floo connections."

Amycus pushed his chair away from the table. "We have to get out of here," he said. "They'll be coming for us."

"Keep your shirt on." Macnair, the only one of the five who'd actually been in Azkaban or had worked for the Ministry, seemed the least concerned. "I don't know that that was much of a connection. More like skimming through a series of places just to see what he can find. If he's working from an unwatched location, no one will notice. It's only if they put a trace on a suspect fireplace that the alarms go off. If he hits one that's being monitored, he could be in trouble, but they can't find us. Not yet."

"Should we turn off the fire?" Snape asked.

Macnair shrugged. "It depends how badly you want to talk to Rabastan Lestrange."

Snape drained his glass of wine. They'd divided the bottle between them and there was no more which, Snape reasoned, was probably for the best. Right now he needed his wits, and wine always made him too talkative. Together the little group of Death Eaters watched the flames, all thought of food forgotten in the mesmerizing dance of the fire.

Another face appeared, glowing sickly green, its quick eyes darting around the room – Aloysius Mulciber's face. After a few seconds, he moved back a little, laughing. "It's all right, Rabs," he said to someone behind him. "They're not muggles. They just look like muggles." He faced the room again. "Hullo! As I live and breathe, it's Sev! How're you doing, Sev old boy? I'd have thought you'd be taking a northern vacation by now."

"Had the tickets," said Snape. "We even boarded the boat. But somehow at the last moment an Arctic cruise didn't appeal. We let them sail without us."

"Really? Are they looking for you?"

"Should be, as of about seven hours ago."

"Why the costumes?"

Snape held up the wand. "Only managed to nick one. We're spotted, and we're toast."

Yaxley moved closer to the fire. "Are you sure it's wise, Al, keeping the connection open like this? We can be traced, and we can't run like you can."

"It's safe for now," Mulciber told them. "The old couple who live here, they're nobody anyone would be watching, and right now they're cooperating quite nicely."

"How did you reach us?" Snape asked.

"Oh, I've got a little list of places where people might be hiding. Gibbon was working on it before he died. There's about a dozen nooks and crannies all over Britain. Yours was the only one that was occupied, though. You want to come here, or should we go there?"

"Not here," said Snape quickly. "It isn't a real fireplace, and the place is too small. You'd be noticed right away. How many of you are there, anyway?"

"Just the three for the moment," replied Mulciber. "Me, Rabs, and Dolph. We're having a little trouble with Dolph, but we're handling it. You come here, then."

"Where's here?" Snape asked.

"Do you know the water gate at the Tower of London?"

Snape glanced at the clock on the wall. The Tower had closed an hour before, and there would be no tourists. "Okay," he said. "When?"

"Ten minutes." As soon as Snape nodded in agreement, Mulciber was gone.

Picking up a coat from the pile of clothing they still hadn't put away, Snape headed for the door. Several minutes later he'd found another quiet place to apparate from, and with a deliberate spin headed for Traitor's Gate in the Tower.

xxxxxxxxxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 3**

Mulciber was there waiting for him.

The two men wasted no time with amenities. Snape side-along apparated with Mulciber to a lonely farm cottage on the coast of Norfolk, then Mulciber side-along apparated with Snape to Springburn. They took Alecto and Amycus first, then returned for Macnair and Yaxley. They carried all the supplies Snape had purchased, though Snape was a bit miffed to find the others had quickly finished dinner without him, including his own portion.

"What am I going to have for supper?" Snape complained to Yaxley.

"We figured the Lestranges would give you something," Yaxley replied, "and we didn't want it to go to waste." After a moment he added, "It was very good."

"Humph," Snape responded. He'd looked forward to a nice dinner after a hard day's work, and now he wasn't too pleased with his prospects for the night.

The cottage was much larger on the inside than on the outside. They'd have to share rooms, but Snape and Yaxley insisted that Mulciber and Macnair room together, and so everything was quickly straightened out.

"Why do I have to stay in the same room with him?" Mulciber complained quietly.

"It's alphabetical," Snape replied, to which argument Mulciber could come up with no good answer.

The old man and woman, Mr. and Mrs. Keddle, who owned the cottage were clearly nervous. Mulciber mentioned to Mrs. Keddle that Snape hadn't had anything to eat, and she agreed to fix him supper, Mulciber keeping an eye on her the whole time to be sure she used her wand for nothing more than food. Meanwhile, Snape accompanied Mr. Keddle into the yard for herbs and to see what vegetables were in the garden.

"I hope you've not been mistreated," Snape said quietly to Mr. Keddle as they inspected the sage and rosemary by the light of Lumos spells."

"What do you want from us?" replied Keddle. "We've got no money. We haven't got much food."

"Do you have a spare wand?" Snape asked.

"They took our wands when they came, you know that. They're only letting Agnes use hers now so you can eat. You're not…? I heard what happened up north."

Snape spoke quietly as he examined a clump of thyme. "I'm not going to ask where you stand, but if you showed some sympathy for the losers, you might find your situation improves."

Mr. Keddle regarded him for a moment, but said nothing. When they returned to the kitchen, however, Snape distracted Mulciber by asking how things were going while Mr. Keddle whispered to Mrs. Keddle.

The subject of their conversation became clear to Snape as soon as he sat down to eat his well-earned meal, for Mrs. Keddle slammed the plate in front of him with a muttered, "Muggle filth," and immediately turned her back.

Mulciber's eyebrows shot up his forehead as Snape jumped away from the table, brushing scattered food from his shirt. "Mrs. Keddle," Mulciber said ominously as Rabastan, Yaxley, and Macnair came in from the other room to find out what the clatter was about, "you seem to be insulting a companion of mine. Do you really think that's wise?"

"Wise!" Mrs. Keddle rounded on him while her husband made an apparently vain attempt to stop her. "It's bad enough you come in and take over my house, and rob me of my wand, and use my floo powder, but then you pollute a good wizard home with this muggle trash! We're respectable wizards, and… and…"

"What makes you think we're muggles," Macnair asked with deceptive pleasantness.

"Look at you! Look at your clothes! What wizard would wear… things like that!"

"These things? Ma'am, I assure you they are only disguises. Despite our clothes, we are all of as good wizarding stock as yourself and your husband."

Mr. Keddle spoke up then. "What are you doing skulking down here? Why weren't you up there where you should have been, fighting in the north? If you'd done your duty, things might have gone differently!" He was suddenly quiet, as if frightened by what he'd said.

Rabastan laid a hand on his shoulder. "We may have misjudged you," he said, "but it's best for all of us not to voice our positions too clearly. I suggest you and your good wife be more circumspect. Now, if you'll let our comrade eat his somewhat belated supper…"

As Snape sat down again and began eating, Rabastan turned to Mulciber. "You'd better come upstairs, Al. He'll be waking up soon, and I don't want to handle him alone. They went to the kitchen door where Rabastan looked back at Snape. "If you'd come up too, Sev, once you're finished eating. Maybe you can help us figure out what to do about Dolph."

Snape finished quickly and took the stairs up to the next floor two at a time, for it was already clear that what to do about Dolph would be a major problem. From one of the bedrooms came alternate howls and cursing. To all intents and purposes, Rodolphus Lestrange had gone mad. Rabastan and Mulciber were with him, but the five newly-arrived wizards stood awkwardly outside in the passage, not wanting to confront the pain and anger within.

Mulciber joined them. "Did any of you see it?" he asked. "Rabs thinks it might help him focus if he has an account to go by that we can trust."

"What does he already know?" Macnair inquired.

"He knows it was that blood-traitor Weasley woman," said Mulciber. "We've been collecting a team all day to plan a surprise for them. Checking every safe house we knew. We'd tried the one you were at three times before we got you."

"We'd just turned on the fire in the grate," Yaxley explained. "That's probably why."

"Did you see what happened?" Mulciber asked him.

"No. I was knocked out."

"So was I," said Macnair. "Someone threw me against a wall."

"We were prisoners upstairs," Alecto added, and Amycus nodded confirmation.

"What about you?" This was addressed to Snape.

Snape sighed. "I saw the end of it. Not the beginning."

"Come with me."

Rodolphus was lying on one of the beds, and he looked as unkempt as it was possible for a man to have gotten in just a few days. He was unshaven, and his uncombed hair was matted and tangled. He'd clearly not changed his clothes, and there was an odd trembling to his manner that spoke of refusing food. His wild eyes went immediately to the movement in the doorway.

"Severus," he cried, "Severus, thank Merlin! They won't let me see Bella! I have to see Bella, talk to her… Where is she? Why are they keeping her…" His mood changed with startling abruptness. "They've killed her. They've killed her! Pay! I'll make them pay! Did you see what they did? What that she-ghoul did? Blood traitors! Pay! Pay!"

"Shh, Dolph," Rabastan coaxed. "You've got to calm down, listen, pay attention. Severus was there. He saw…"

"Saw? You saw? You saw them destroy her – ruin her – mutilate her –"

"No, Dolph. Not that," Snape was aghast at the other man's agitation. "No, it was clean. Quick." It occurred to him even as he said it that he didn't know what the victors had done with the bodies of the Death Eater dead. If his own treatment had been any indication, then they were not treated with respect, so maybe the story of mutilation… He thrust the image from his mind.

"She was brave to the end!" Rodolphus screamed at him. "She defied them to the end! I know. I know Bella. _The Quibbler_ said she groveled like a coward… Not my Bella… Not my Bella!"

Snape took Rodolphus's head between his hands and forced the crazed man to look at him. "I didn't see the beginning, but when I got the to hall there were only two duels being fought. The Dark Lord held off three opponents, and Bella was dueling Molly Weasley. No one else stepped in. No one interfered. Dolph! Bella was crazy, like a mad woman. She was dancing and laughing. She raised her arm too high…"

"A Killing Curse! She hit her with…"

"Dolph! I don't know what she hit her with! It could have been any of a dozen curses. Bella stepped right into it, and it hit her straight in the heart. She was dead before she struck the floor."

There was sudden silence in the room. The Lestrange brothers in the room, the four in the doorway, all had their eyes on Snape, the only eyewitness.

"The Dark Lord knew at once. He threw off his own opponents and raised his wand to avenge Bella, but then the Potter brat appeared from under his Invisibility Cloak and shielded the woman from justice. I would have struck him down myself, but I was knocked out by a house-elf, and when I woke it was all over and the Dark Lord dead."

"That's true," said Yaxley. "We all saw the marks on Severus's body where they beat him. They had to get him healers before they could take him in front of a judge."

Rodolphus clutched Snape's arms. "Her body. What did they do with her body?"

"I don't know," Snape told him.

Now Rodolphus in his turn held Snape's head to force eye contact. "This is true? Do you swear it?"

"I swear," Snape whispered, and let him see the moment when Bella fell.

Rodolphus was suddenly as cold as ice. "That's my Bella. Fighting every inch and laughing!" He swung his legs off the bed. "Bring me some food, Rabs. What kind of a brother are you, anyway? How's a man to get his revenge if he's starving? Damn _Quibbler!_ He'll pay, too, for dishonoring her memory."

"You come downstairs and get some food, Dolph," said Rabastan, "but clean yourself up a bit first or you'll offend the lady." When Rodolphus sneered at him, Rabastan assured him, "They're all right. Good, straight-thinking purebloods. The woman practically dumped soup on poor Sev's head because she thought he was muggle trash."

Rodolphus glanced around, noticing the others for the first time. "Serves him right for being a half-breed." He reached out and patted Snape's shoulder. "But he's a good half-breed, and he's our half-breed. You tell that woman to be nice to our Sev. He can't help having the father he did. At least he got good blood on his mother's side."

Six of them went back downstairs where the Keddles had cheese and crackers, sweets, coffee, and mead for them. A few minutes later a much more respectable Rodolphus joined them, Rabastan having helped him clean up. The eight Death Eaters gathered around a large table with parchment, quills, and ink – food and drink to sustain them – and began to plan.

Snape had one ear cocked for noise outside. He was afraid that at any moment he might hear the pop of aurors apparating in to apprehend them. He prayed that the trace on Macnair was not yet activated, or that if it was, Robards was being patient. Mulciber's comment about collecting a team worried him. Because of the division of cells and the Dark Lord's obsession with secrecy, no one knew, certainly not Snape, how many more Death Eaters might be roaming free. The longer Robards held off, the more they would learn.

"How many are we?" Macnair asked, sparing Snape having to ask the question himself.

"More than a dozen now," Mulciber replied. "Crabbe and Goyle are with Selwynn. Rowle and Travers are together. We haven't been able to contact Dolohov or Rookwood…"

Snape shook his head. "Both were taken," he told them. "Greyback, Malfoy, Thicknesse…"

"Thicknesse was just Imperiused," Yaxley reminded him. "We'd never have counted him, would we?" The others concurred.

"What about Jugson or Nott?" Snape asked.

"We haven't been able to reach them." Mulciber looked at the list in front of him. "The best part is that Selwynn has contact with the whole southeastern cell, the one based in Bristol. He may be able to get us twenty, twenty-five from there. We may find others, lower down but still loyal. It isn't over yet."

"Will they come out," Yaxley asked, "with the Dark Lord gone?"

"We could tell them the Dark Lord didn't really die," Rodolphus suggested. "That he'll come back stronger…"

"Don't be silly," Snape said. "They all know he's dead."

"Why are you so sure, Half-…" Rodolphus got Rabastan's elbow in his ribs. "Sev," he finished.

Snape lifted his left arm. "Because of this." He paused, then said, "Voldemort." They stared at him, unmoving. Then Mulciber looked at his own arm. "It's gone," he murmured. "The connection is gone."

"Yes, and everyone knows it. They probably felt it the moment he died. I was unconscious, but did you?"

"It's what made us come back," said Rabastan. "We were recruiting in Scandinavia and felt it flare up, then die. We waited for instructions, then came back on our own. By then it was news everywhere."

"So," said Snape, "no lies about the Dark Lord coming back. We have to rely on loyalty to the cause and a desire for revenge. Dolph isn't the only one who lost people. We'll get the ones who wish they were at the fight, too."

"What I want to get," said Macnair, "is a wand. When we jumped off that boat into the water, we only got one wand, and Severus here has been using it. I want a wand. I don't want to go anywhere defenseless."

Mulciber pulled out two wands. "They belong to the Keddles," he explained. "See if they work for any of you."

Mrs. Keddle's wand suited Alecto well. Macnair took Mr. Keddle's, refusing to remain without one regardless of how unsuitable it might be. It was agreed that top priority would go to getting wands for Yaxley and Amycus.

"But be patient," Rabastan reminded them. "It's not like we can pick them up in Diagon Alley."

"No," said Alecto, pointing to the kitchen where the Keddles waited. "But one of them could."

The Keddles were restrained for the night, but not painfully so. Mulciber even apologized for the need to take the precaution, calling them decent, bloodworthy wizards. Mr. Keddle's glance met Snape's for a fraction of a second, and Snape hoped the man was grateful, though he couldn't tell from the meagerness of the contact.

Upstairs, Snape and Yaxley checked out their bedroom.

"I wouldn't be Mulciber tonight for all the tea in China," Yaxley laughed. "Can you imagine lying awake all night wondering what Macnair was thinking?"

"Or worse, doing," said Snape. "Better him than me."

"Thought you knew him from school."

"I did. That's how I know they're a match made in heaven."

Yaxley fizzed a little. "We're going to have fun times, aren't we?"

"Not too fun, I hope," said Snape. "As long as it's M and M providing the entertainment and not me, I'm content."

The chuckling from Yaxley increased. "I see," he said. "M and M is better than S and M."

Snape hit him with a pillow, and then they both went to sleep.

The next morning, Snape stayed out of the argument the moment he saw which way it was heading.

"You'd like me to walk right into a circle of aurors and get arrested, wouldn't you?" Amycus roared at Macnair. "I know you don't think a lot of me, but making me go into a trap is just a little obvious, isn't it? When did you decide I was ex… exp…"

"Expendable?" Macnair finished. "Right about now, when you demonstrated what a horse's arse you are. It's your wand we're getting. Nigel's ready to go, aren't you Nigel?"

"Well, now that it comes to it, do you really think I'm the best one to do it? We need someone who's convincing as a muggle." Yaxley rather pointedly did not look at Snape as he said this.

"Muggle? Why?" Macnair demanded, and Mulciber and the Lestranges looked equally mystified.

"I thought…" Yaxley swallowed. "Well, none of us can actually go into the shop. We're all known. Only the old man can go in. Whoever goes with him has to wait outside the Leaky Cauldron and blend in with the muggles there. Any aurors would be looking for wizards, not muggles."

Everyone turned to look at Snape.

"He does have a point," Rabastan said gently.

"Wait a minute," Snape said. "I have to go to London? I don't want to go to London. I don't want to get captured again." This wasn't true, of course. Going to London was precisely what he wanted.

"I think you're outvoted, Sev old boy," said Mulciber, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

_Why do they always do that when they're giving you bad news?_ Snape thought.

Snape and Mr. Keddle apparated together to a little alley south of Leicester Square. Snape looked thoroughly muggle. Mr. Keddle had been carefully attired in a modified-wizard, almost-muggle way and briefed as to just what effect his potential treason might have on his wife's welfare. He seemed to be more content that he was being accompanied by Snape than by any of the others, but he was clearly not happy. Not happy at all.

"They harm one hair…"

"I'm not harming anybody. I just want two wands and then to get out of here."

"One hair…"

"Do you know what you have to do?"

"The shop is being run by a grandson. Only part of the stock is available. I need replacement wands, and me and my sick cousin have always been so close that if one works for me, it'll work for him, too. When times get better, we'll come in for good ones. And if you harm…"

"One hair. I know."

Mr. Keddle stalked off to the Leaky Cauldron. As soon as he was hidden in the crowd, Snape apparated somewhat to the northeast, to Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park.

There was a small crowd listening to a speaker who was complaining about taxation. _Like that's ever going to change_, Snape thought, making his way to the drop point. It was a tiny spell that opened the equally tiny compartment, and Snape breathed a silent prayer that what he was seeking was there. It was. He pulled out the little rectangular package and drifted toward a more isolated spot. There he opened the portrait.

Dumbledore was there immediately. "Excellent seeing you, Severus! We have been worried, though Harry did mention that you'd made it home safely. How have you fared?"

"Not badly. We've made contact with the Lestranges, but they can't move in yet. There's at least one whole cell and several midlevel people who are at large and ready to act. There may be more. Until we know how many and where, any action on our part could tip them off."

"Are the Weasleys in danger?"

"Yes, but it's still in the early planning stage. Keep them under surveillance. I'll try to let you know when we start to move."

"Hold on a moment, Severus. This is getting complex, and we might be better off without a middle man." Dumbledore disappeared for a moment, then returned. "Gawain is apparating to Hyde Park right now. He'll get the information straight from you."

Robards arrived five minutes later, and he and Snape talked for nearly ten. Snape gave him as much as he could about the Death Eaters with him, those that had been contacted by floo, and those waiting in the wings. He knew approximately where the Keddles' house was, and Robards confirmed that they didn't yet have a trace on Macnair. Snape would keep them advised through the portrait, which was also listening intently. Finally, Snape returned to Leicester Square well in advance of Mr. Keddle.

When Keddle returned with the two wands, he and Snape apparated back to the house on the Norfolk coast.

xxxxxxxxxx

"There, you see," portrait Dumbledore said with some satisfaction to Harry Potter. "He is quite well and has already accomplished a good deal of his mission. He always was a most excellent spy. It was frequently a pleasure just watching him work. Although I must admit the parts where we had to patch him up were not quite so pleasant. He was always very good about it, though. He seemed to regard it as an unavoidable part of the job."

"What kind of patching did you have to do?" Harry asked.

"Probably the worst was when he rejoined the Death Eaters in ninety-five. You were there when he left, as I recall. After poor Cedric died. He'd prepared a large number of images to give Voldemort, about how tyrannical I was, and how badly he treated Voldemort's enemies – muggle-borns and such – but it turned out that Barty Crouch had told Voldemort about the occlumency, so Severus had to pretend it was involuntary and let them break through his defenses. It was quite brutal, and very painful. By the time they let him come back here, the damage to his spine was bad enough that he could hardly walk."

"I thought he looked all right at the dinner," said Harry, beginning to feel guilty about yet another misjudgment.

"Well, yes, but that was after several days with his neck in a brace. Do not feel bad about it, Harry. That you could not see any ill effects is a great tribute to Severus's talent. But do you not now see how essential it has been to maintain Severus's cover? If any hint of his true loyalty had ever gotten out, his usefulness would have vanished. Probably his life as well, though he would regard that as secondary."

"Someone else would have been put in charge of Hogwarts. Someone worse." Harry walked over to the window and looked down at the lake.

"That is correct, Harry. And there is more. We had long known there was Death Eater infiltration of the Ministry. This was used to influence Dolores Umbridge in your fifth year, but it also kept Severus in a position where, when you were in danger, he could still act to send me and the others to your aid. And if he had not obeyed my orders on the Astronomy Tower, Voldemort would not have placed himself in a position to be destroyed. So you see, take Severus out of the picture – take Death Eater Severus out of the picture – and we might not be so fortunate today as we are."

Harry's voice was low and quiet. "I was going to let them kill him. I was going to watch while they… I was enjoying it."

"Another tribute to the superb quality of his work. The resistance worker is safest if the people he is helping believe him an enemy. It does make things a bit awkward at the end, of course. I understand Severus would not have been the first to pay the price for having done his job too well. But then, he has always put his cause above his person."

"What cause is he fighting for, Professor? For my mother?"

"I promised not to discuss that with anyone."

"Hagrid said they were friends. He thought she might have been the only friend he had."

"I regret that Hagrid has been so free with his confidences. It does not alter my position."

A half hour later, Harry Potter was in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic requesting to speak with the head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Given the culmination of events less than a week before, he was granted the interview rather quickly.

"Come in, Mr. Potter," Gawain Robards said, gesturing toward a comfortable looking chair as he resumed his place behind his desk. "Please have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to talk to you about Severus Snape."

Robards expression didn't change. "I would have thought you already had considerable information about Professor Snape," he said. "Professor Dumbledore can tell you much more than I."

"He made some promises about not talking. I'm hoping you didn't." Harry realized this might be another brick wall. "I just found out that Professor Snape is one of the few people left alive who knew, really knew, my parents. He's still out there, and he could still get killed."

"That didn't seem to bother you a few days ago."

"A few days ago I was still a dumb kid. I still thought he was a murderer."

"No," said Robards quietly. "Just an accessory before and after the fact."

Harry looked straight at Robards in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I was the prosecuting attorney at his trial back in 1981. It's all a matter of record, though for security reasons it's been sealed."

"He had a trial? I… oh, right. Professor Dumbledore spoke up for him, didn't he? That's why Professor Snape was found innocent."

Robards leaned back in his chair. "I see you really don't know the whole story," he said. "The trial is public record, and it will be declassified as soon as this last matter is completed, so I think…" He reached for a folder and laid it open in front of Harry. "This is the law about disclosing classified material. If I tell you in this room about the trial, do you understand that you would be breaking the law to discuss it anywhere else with any other person?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Professor Dumbledore acted as attorney for the defense. After Voldemort was defeated the first time," Robards nodded toward Harry, "Professor Snape was reluctant to give the Ministry information about many of his colleagues. Certain people here held him responsible for withholding evidence that might have prevented the subsequent attacks on the Longbottoms and Moody. When the charges were first prepared, they included murder and conspiracy. A review by a judge showed that there was no evidence for those charges, so he was tried for being an accessory, since he'd brewed potions and created spells for, and taught self defense to, people who'd used them to commit murder."

Robards regarded Harry for a moment. "You're what, almost eighteen? Professor Snape wasn't much older than you when he became a Death Eater and, as it turned out, a lot more innocent about the ways of the world than you are. Not surprising considering what you've been through. As the trial progressed and he was presented with evidence of what his potions and spells had been used for, he became agitated and then shocked us all, Dumbledore included, by insisting on changing his plea to guilty on all charges. That was when Dumbledore asked to address the Wizengamot and told us about his undercover work the previous year. The court suspended his sentence for as long as he remained in Dumbledore's custody and under Dumbledore's authority. Basically, it was Hogwarts or Azkaban. Dumbledore insisted on keeping the whole proceeding as secret as possible because even then he suspected that Voldemort might return. Even then he was planning on using Professor Snape again. It turned out he was right, and it was lucky for us the professor wasn't in Azkaban."

"What kind of person was Professor Snape when he was… how old was he then?"

"Twenty-one. Almost twenty-two. An odd one. Incredibly experienced and sophisticated about some things, amazingly naive about others. It was easy to see how they could have manipulated him. He's become a lot more experienced and sophisticated over the years, but there are still ways in which he's amazingly naive. I actually started liking him during the trial. After all those other Death Eaters trying to implicate each other and shift responsibility away from themselves, he was quite refreshing."

"Did he ever kill anyone?"

"Only the two you already know about, and both times at the victim's request."

"Do you know of anyone else who would have known him from before?"

"Our investigation didn't show many. No family left. Of the ones he associated with in school, the only one not either dead or a fugitive was named Mitchell Edison, a dormitory mate. And, of course, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh yes, they were friends, or at least friendly, long before either became a Death Eater."

The circle was widening. After leaving Robards's office and stepping out into muggle London, Harry thought things over carefully. First there was his Aunt Petunia. While she probably couldn't tell him much, she would know about the time when Snape and his mother had met, and what it was like before they went to Hogwarts. This Mitchell Edison had lived in the same dormitory as Snape for seven years and must have loads of information. That Snape had been friends with the Malfoys as Death Eaters was something Harry should have thought about before, but hadn't, and knowing the friendship predated joining Voldemort… it put a whole different angle on the way Snape had treated Draco in school. Not because he was a Slytherin pureblood, but because he was the son of a friend.

_But I'm the son of a friend, too_, Harry thought. _Didn't that make a difference?_ He caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window. His father stared back at him. _I guess when he looked at me, he never saw my mother. Just the git who drove him right into Voldemort's arms._ More than ever, Harry wanted to talk to Snape, to find out exactly what Snape had thought of James at the end.

Then Harry thought of the others, and wanted to kick himself for never thinking of it before. The professors! He knew McGonagall had started teaching in 1956. He knew Flitwick was Charms professor before his dad and Snape had taken their OWLs in 1976. Heck, Snape had been teaching at Hogwarts for ten years before Harry arrived at the age of eleven. All those professors lived and worked with Snape, too! They all knew Snape, certainly better than Harry did.

Fired with curiosity and determination, Harry Potter apparated back to Hogwarts.

xxxxxxxxxx

Snape, meanwhile, was back in Norfolk. There was a little difficulty about the wands.

"I don't want this one," Macnair insisted, throwing Mr. Keddle's wand down on the table. "I want the one you took off the boat."

That, of course, was a Ministry wand, possibly an auror's wand, and Snape wasn't going to give it to Macnair. "I've already bonded with this wand," he countered. "Pick any of the others you want. After all the work I did, I'm not about to waste time breaking in another wand."

"The only reason you have it is because you stole it from that man on the boat."

"Right. And if you'd been faster or smarter, it might have been you, but you weren't, so it wasn't. And you wouldn't have been able to get clothes, or into a safe house without using magic, or buy food in a muggle market, or even light a gas grate. Without me and this wand we wouldn't be here. We'd probably be back in Azkaban having run into aurors ten minutes after we washed up on the beach. So back off, Walden. This wand is mine!"

Macnair glanced around at the others, but found neither sympathy nor support for his claim among them. He shrugged and backed down, stretching out a finger that stopped an inch away from Snape's jaw. "I love it when you're forceful," he said. "So much promise in a spirit like that. I look forward to the time when you give me that wand out of pure friendship."

"Rot!" Snape replied, and Macnair had to be content with one of the newly purchased wands. Amycus got the other, and Mr. Keddle's wand went to Yaxley.

That settled, and order if not peace restored, Rabastan pulled out a map of England. His wand drew a circle around Bristol. "That's our temporary headquarters," he said. "Where do the Weasleys live?"

Snape didn't reply, but he didn't have to. "Ottery St. Catchpole," said Alecto. "It's in Devonshire."

"How would you know?" Mulciber challenged her.

"Easy. I checked the Weasley girl's file at Hogwarts after they tried to steal that sword. The Lovegood girl is from the same town."

Rodolphus spoke up for the first time in hours. "That's wonderful," he said as he rubbed his hands together. "My two enemies in the same place, and a cell of Death Eaters just north of them in Bristol. This will be perfect."

"What do we do first?" Snape asked. "Plan an attack, or go to Bristol?" He was hoping for Bristol since that would give the Ministry a location before the planning was finished.

"I say plan first," said Macnair. "That way, when we start to move, we can move fast."

"I agree with Walden," said Mulciber. "Right now, we're safe. We can get the people in Bristol to come here and tell us what resources they have."

"Doesn't seem good to me." Yaxley interjected. "This is a pretty quiet place. There've already been too many comings and goings. We get more people showing up here and somebody's going to notice and report it. Maybe they already have. Bristol's bigger. We wouldn't attract as much attention."

They voted and it was six to two to go to Bristol.

It was Rabastan's job to contact the other Death Eaters in Bristol by floo. Snape took advantage of the moment to go upstairs into the bedroom he shared with Yaxley. Leaving the door ajar, he took out the portrait of Dumbledore, opened it, and hissed, "Don't say anything. Not a word."

Dumbledore appeared, laying a finger to his lips. Snape continued. "This may come in bits and pieces. I'll only talk when it's clear. If they hear you, I'm toast."

The portrait nodded, though there was a twinkle in its eyes. Snape listened at the door. "We're going to Bristol as soon as we can. There may be a Fidelius. Tell Gawain to put the trace on now."

There was a footstep on the staircase, so Snape closed the portrait and replaced it in his pocket. The footstep was Macnair's.

"You don't like our company?" Macnair said as he swung the door open and entered the room. "Or maybe you wanted to be alone."

"Had it occurred to you," Snape said calmly, "that there may be things in these rooms we could use?" He'd stepped over to a chest as soon as he'd heard someone coming up and was rummaging in it.

"That would be stealing, wouldn't it? Bad boys who steal need to be punished."

"Believe me, the moment I steal something, you'll know. We could, on the other hand, ask to borrow things. They're a right-thinking couple. But how do we know what to ask for if we don't know what's here? Take this for example." Snape held up a garment that appeared to be a cross between a woman's bathing costume and tank armor plating.

"What would you use that for?" Macnair asked, incredulous.

"I don't know, but I could never in a million years have asked for it if I hadn't seen it first."

"What are you two doing up here together?" Yaxley smirked from the doorway. "A tête-à-tête?"

"Watch your language," Snape remarked icily. "You could get detention for smut like that."

"I just wanted to tell you both to come downstairs. We're leaving. Of course, if you'd rather be alone…"

"One can only dream…" Macnair began, then suddenly slapped the back of his neck. "What was that?"

Snape immediately swatted at vacant air. "Gnats," he said. "Midges. We are practically in fen country, you know."

They hurried downstairs to where Rabastan was preparing a portkey. "We'll be a couple of streets away," he explained, "but luckily Selwynn was the Secret Keeper. Everybody grab hold and hang on tight."

As the portkey whisked them all away, Snape fervently hoped that Macnair really had been bitten by gnats or midges. Either that, or he had forgotten what the activation of a Ministry trace felt like.

xxxxxxxxxx

Harry debated for a while, then went to Professor Sprout first, out in the greenhouses. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Professor McGonagall or to Professor Flitwick. It was just that in the fifth floor confrontation that had driven Headmaster Snape from the building, Harry couldn't recall that Sprout had actually tried to kill Snape. McGonagall knew now that Snape was under cover, but that didn't mean she would give Harry the most unbiased information.

"Severus?" Sprout placed her hands on her hips, a trowel in one of them. "He joined the staff the year after I did. It was the first time I'd ever seen him. Why?"

"I need to learn more about my parents. He may know more than any living person. I thought if I learned more about him…"

"Love you, Harry, I met him long after that. A few years at least. He was very young, very earnest, very organized and dedicated. Until the night You-Know-Who died and he ended up on the Astronomy Tower, of course. That gave us something to talk about, didn't it?"

"What happened that night?"

"I'm not sure, really. We got the confirmation that You-Know-Who was gone… and your parents, of course, but I'd never known them… then suddenly Albus and Hagrid were rushing out of the Hall. I followed them up, but by the time I reached the Astronomy Tower they were bringing Severus down. Fair in a state of shock, the poor boy. They took him to the hospital wing and he was there for several days. Sedated, was what I heard."

"Why did he go up there?"

"No one ever said. The rumor was that he'd tried to kill himself when he realized that You-Know-Who was dead. I believed it at first, but not after the first week."

"Why not?" Harry said, intrigued.

"He didn't act like the others. At least not what we were hearing in the _Prophet_. So many were hiding, or claiming to have been under Imperius curses. Severus put himself too forward, as if he didn't have anything to hide. Several of the Slytherin students had parents who were being arrested, and Severus protected them from reprisals in the school and got the other Slytherin students to protect them, too. It really was 'Fortress Slytherin' back then, but the adversity and the way he had them handle it united that house so powerfully that within a few years there was nothing that could touch them. You remember. Gryffindor's winning the House Cup your first year was the first time Slytherin had been defeated after six straight years. And they didn't depend on the Quidditch Cup or a couple of bright, ambitious students either. They did it as a house."

Sprout returned to digging in a pot with her trowel. "It was then, with him backing the Death Eater children, that the rumor started that he'd been one himself. It died after a year or two. But those of us who knew him before You-Know-Who fell, we'd seen he wasn't like that."

"You mean he cared too much about other people," Harry offered.

"Cared? I wouldn't bet my last sickle that Severus cared about anyone. But he had a powerful sense of right and wrong, of justice. And he'd risk himself for it. The students in Slytherin knew that. Then, once he'd shown that Slytherin could be competitive in a Quidditch game, and could win a Cup, well he had more than his share of pride of house. I think focusing on Slytherin made up for not having anything… There, I've said too much."

Harry thought about that for a long time – how Gryffindor house had won those cups because he'd done something that had nothing to do with the house at all, or how everyone depended on Hermione to rack up points for them. They'd never really tried to work together. The only house he'd really thought of as working together was Professor Sprout's house, Hufflepuff. But Sprout had noticed that Slytherin did it, too.

He needed more background, though, so the next person Harry wanted to talk to was his Aunt Petunia.

xxxxxxxxxx

The team of Death Eaters portkeyed into an alley behind Redcliffe Wharf in Bristol, and were met there by Cecil Crabbe and Geoffrey Goyle. Crabbe had the same desperate, fanatic gleam in his eyes that Rodolphus had, and Snape remembered Potter's voice telling him that the son was dead. For one fleeting moment, Snape wished he had information to give the grieving father, then realized it was better that he didn't.

The group, not as conspicuous as they might have been because of Snape's muggle clothing for five of them, waited next to a red brick warehouse while Goyle led them one by one out of the alley. Snape was third, right after Rabastan and Rodolphus.

He was led right into a neighboring alley, to a poured concrete warehouse with massive loading docks whose doors were closed for the evening. Goyle took Snape inside, into a freight elevator, and up to the fourth floor. There they were met by Kenneth Avery who, as it turned out, was the Secret Keeper.

"Nobody said you'd be here," Snape remarked on seeing Avery.

"Most of them don't know," Avery responded. "We thought it best to be as discreet as possible. I thought you, of all people, would understand the concept of discreet."

"I imbibed it with my mother's milk," Snape replied, then listened carefully as Avery divulged the number of the suite of offices that was the Bristol cell headquarters. A door with a tinted glass window appeared halfway down the corridor. Snape nodded to Avery and, approaching the door, turned the handle and entered.

Rabastan and Rodolphus were already there. In addition, Snape saw Thorfinn Rowle, Archibald Travers, and Daniel Selwyn. The circle of free Death Eaters was respectable, and was certain to get larger.

When the entire group, Norfolk and Bristol, were assembled, Kenneth Avery asked that the meeting come to order. He was immediately challenged by Rabastan Lestrange. "I'm the ranking one here. I should take charge."

"But this is my cell, the one the Dark Lord put me in command of. I take charge." Avery was not about to relinquish his position.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Snape yelled at both of them, and there was a sudden, startling silence. "What does it matter who's in charge of the meeting? The Dark Lord is gone, so it has to be put to a vote anyway! I say the gavel goes to the one most tolerant of being outvoted, because no matter what you say, the rest of us are going to vote you into the ground!"

Avery and Lestrange both assessed the faces around them, then Lestrange conceded defeat and resumed his chair. Avery was free to conduct the meeting, everyone knowing that he would probably be voted into the ground anyway. There might have been a groundswell for Snape, but he wasn't fool enough to put himself forward for the job of chairman.

The meeting was almost impossible to keep in order. Normally quiet Crabbe, who never spoke up for himself, was demanding that the cell launch an immediate attack on Harry Potter, while Rodolphus insisted with equal fervor that everything else give way to his revenge against Molly Weasley. Discussion deteriorated at once into a shouting match between the two men.

"Bella was a soldier!" Crabbe yelled at Rodolphus. "She died in battle doing her duty!"

"It was murder! She was attacked from behind! Outnumbered!"

"You just won't accept the fact that she was slow enough to be beaten by a second-rate witch like the Weasley woman!"

"Your son was too much of a coward to even fight!"

Crabbe went for Rodolphus, and had to be restrained by Yaxley and Amycus. "He was a student! A boy! He was murdered away from the battle by that fiend Potter!"

"He was of age! He should have been fighting!"

An explosion like a thunderclap sent everyone to the floor with their hands over their ears, and in the resulting silence, Mulciber spoke for the first time.

"Both of you have it all wrong," he said quietly. "You don't want to kill Molly Weasley and Harry Potter, you want to hurt them."

"Hurt him so bad that he dies!" screamed Crabbe.

"Not that kind of hurt, you big oaf. The other kind. The kind you're feeling right now. You don't make them hurt like that by killing them. You make them hurt by killing someone they love. Then they'll understand how you feel."

Crabbe calmed down a bit at that, as did Rodolphus. "What do you suggest?" Rodolphus asked.

"It's common knowledge," continued Mulciber, "that Potter doesn't have any family that he loves. The family he's always with is the Weasleys. Killing the right Weasley will hurt him more than anything else possibly could. And it would hurt the woman at the same time. I say we go for one of them. The only question is, which?"

The circle of eyes turned to Snape. "You know them all the best of us," said Avery. "Which Weasley is Potter closest to?"

It was an obvious answer, and Snape had no way to avoid giving it. "His best friend is the youngest of the boys, Ron."

"What about the girl?" Alecto asked.

"Why her?" Mulciber leaned forward, his chin on his hand.

"First, she's the only one. The only girl. Second, she's the youngest. Third, she was one of the leaders of the students who challenged our rule at Hogwarts. Fourth both Potter and the Weasley woman are protectors. They want to protect the others. We pick the youngest, most vulnerable and show they can't protect her, and we'll hit both of them in the weakest spot."

"Besides," chimed in Macnair, "that was something I did see before I got slammed into that wall. The reason Molly Weasley went for Bella was because Bella was fighting the girl. She attacked Bella because of the girl."

Crabbe and Rodolphus looked at each other. It was a plan that both of them could gain revenge from. "All right," said Rodolphus, "we target the girl. What's her name?"

"Ginny," said Macnair. "Arthur was always talking about her. His little Ginny."

"And after her," Crabbe added, "we go for the next one, Ron. He was probably there when Vincent died, too. He's just as responsible."

The next fight was between Avery and Rabastan, for Avery flatly refused to give the others the names or locations of the members of his cell. "I'm in charge of the southwest," he maintained stoutly. "That was my last commission from the Dark Lord, and I'm not deserting my post."

"I'm the top-ranking operative left," Rabastan repeated. "You answer to me."

"Does that mean," Macnair asked quietly, "that you're taking over the Dark Lord's place?"

The others, Snape included, looked around the little group. Most had as yet said nothing, but Snape had the feeling that in a showdown Rabastan could only count on Rodolphus and Mulciber. _I wonder how many of them I could count on in a showdown. Yaxley?_ Snape wasn't even sure of that. He desperately want to get away from the others so he could warn Dumbledore to put extra guards around Ginny and Ron.

"It's getting late," Thorfinn Rowle complained suddenly "Are we going to eat, or what?"

It was a question that highlighted the fact that matters of rank and pecking order could be postponed to a later time, something that both Avery and Rabs Lestrange were willing to do since it gave each the time to consolidate his power base. There was a house-elf on the premises, and soon a very respectable meal was provided to the fourteen Death Eaters.

"Where are we to sleep?" Macnair asked, easing himself into a chair next to Snape. "I mean, the offices are spacious, but there's fourteen of us, and I count only four rooms and a toilet. I don't imagine anyone's going to spend the night in his own home with every auror in Britain looking for us."

"Easy," said Avery. "The kitchenette area is smaller, so three can be there. Then the others will have four each, except one will have only three. I'm certain Jergy can provide beds."

"If I may suggest," said Snape, "the lady may require more privacy. The kitchen is too small for three. Let Alecto and Amycus have that one, and we split equally four per room in the larger areas." He wasn't really interested in protecting Alecto, but he was looking toward future support, and for the present, if it came to it, he didn't fancy the possibility of only one other person between himself and Macnair.

The Death Eaters began splitting into groups, and Snape still could see no way to contact Dumbledore. He thought of the toilet, but the quarters were cramped and the walls thin, and silencing spells could be detected by someone expecting and looking for them. The problem absorbed him sufficiently that he wasn't alert to the fact that he and Yaxley had been paired, as if by fate, with Macnair and Mulciber until it was too late.

"You see," Macnair leered as they entered the conference room designated as theirs and waited for the elf to bring beds. "You can't stay away from me. You're drawn to me like a moth to a flame."

"With unpleasant consequences for the moth," Snape retorted, but a plan was forming in his brain. He slipped a hand into his robes and found the latch that held the portrait closed. Then he changed the subject. "Will someone please tell me what just happened out there?"

Macnair and Mulciber started to answer at once. Snape raised a hand, flipped the concealed portrait open, and said, "We need quiet here. No one should speak except the one who has the floor. Mulciber?"

"It's obvious that Avery's hungry for power. Why else would he refuse to disclose the names of the people in the cell? He'll use them to back him up when he tries to take over."

Macnair didn't agree. "The one we have to watch out for is Rabastan. I think he always considered Bella the designated heir of the Dark Lord, and now that she's gone, he thinks he's next in line."

"Does anyone know exactly how many people are in Avery's cell?" Snape asked.

Mulciber shook his head. "It was one of the bigger ones in the end," he said. "Maybe two dozen, maybe three dozen people."

"Names?" Snape insisted.

"Not a one," Macnair replied. "Only Avery knows."

"How dedicated? How fanatic?"

"Only Avery knows that, too."

Snape sighed. "At least we have the chance that, even if we're all stopped or captured, someone in the cell will go on to complete the mission."

Mulciber chuckled. "Just think. Even if they catch us all, or think they do, years down the road some loyal operative will see his chance and spring on them to avenge the Dark Lord. Poetry! I'd almost be willing to be captured to see it."

"Are we all agreed on the targets?" Snape looked around at the other three faces. "Do we concur that hitting Ginny or Ron Weasley will achieve the greatest effect, the greatest level of revenge for Bella and Vincent? We already know your opinion, Al. You suggested it."

"Agreed," Macnair and Yaxley chorused.

"Then we'd better get to bed," said Snape. "We're going to have a long couple of days planning exactly what we're going to do. Tempers will be high. We need all the rest we can get." As he finished speaking, Snape reached casually back into his robes as if to start undressing, and gently closed the portrait. He sincerely hoped Dumbledore had been listening.

The elf brought privacy screens and night clothes as well as beds, and so all four men got ready for sleep. Snape tucked the portrait into the pillow case, reasoning - rightly as it turned out – that the elf would clean their clothes during the night. He had Yaxley and Mulciber between him and Macnair, and consequently slept rather well.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Friday, June 12, 1998 (two days after the full moon)_

Shacklebolt and Robards came to the meeting in the Headmaster's office. Professor McGonagall presided, Hagrid sat by the door to be sure they weren't overheard, and Harry paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"Fourteen of the first, second, and third echelon, and about two dozen rank and file," Robards recapped quietly. "That's a lot of Death Eaters still on the loose. Have they mentioned any other cells still operating?"

"No," replied Dumbledore's portrait, "and with both Lestranges and Mulciber in the group, he would probably have heard of them if they were still functioning."

"How do you know that?" Robards asked, then went on when the portrait merely rolled its eyes. "Did it ever occur to you, Albus, that the information you withheld might have been useful a couple of years ago?"

"But Gawain, what kind of track record did the Ministry have a couple of years ago? And the smallest piece of information in the wrong hands could have gotten the poor boy killed before the horcruxes were destroyed. It had to be kept a secret."

"Boy?" Harry asked.

"I think of all my students as the boys and girls they were when they studied here, Harry. I still sometimes think of Tom Riddle as a boy. And Minerva as the young girl with the tartan ribbon in her hair."

"Albus!" cried McGonagall, but the portrait merely smiled.

"I don't see," said Harry, changing the subject, "why I can't tell Ron and Ginny what's happening. If they knew the danger, they could take precautions."

"For the same reason," Dumbledore sighed, "that I could not tell Gawain about the cells and their leaders. As long as Severus is out there, the smallest leak could jeopardize his life."

"But you let me tell Ron and Hermione about the horcruxes and Voldemort's history."

"That was because I wanted them to support you in that task, to understand how important it was so that they would stick by you. You notice that I never breathed a word to you, and thus not to them, about the work Severus was doing."

"That's not true, Professor. We knew he was in the Order. We saw him at Grimmauld Place. You told him to give me occlumency lessons. I knew he was a spy. So did Ron and Hermione."

"But did you ever really trust him?"

"Well, no…"

"And therein lay his safety. That doubt in you would have fortified Voldemort's belief that Severus was true to him. Now, Kingsley?"

Shacklebolt shifted a bit and crossed one leg over the other. "It's nearly official. The appointment will be announced on Sunday, and then poor Gawain will have to take orders from me. We already have extra people in the Ottery St. Catchpole area, and they're watching the Lovegoods as well as the Weasleys. You just be sure to pass on every scrap of information you can. For all we know, some of the neighbors are members of this cell."

"That thought has occurred to me," said Dumbledore. "What about the Board of Governors?"

"We've managed to cancel the June meeting of the board. The next one is scheduled for July 15," Kingsley told him.

"That gives us a month of free action. Good. If Severus does his job, that should be all we need. For the moment we can but wait."

After Shacklebolt and Robards left, Harry asked Dumbledore about the Dursleys. Dumbledore seemed amused.

"I was under the impression, if you do not mind my saying so, that you never wanted to see or hear from them again."

"I didn't. That is, not until I found out she – Aunt Petunia – knew Professor Snape when they were children. I just wanted… Are they back in Little Whinging?"

"No, it is too early to take such chances. If this cell of Death Eaters is willing to attack the Weasleys for revenge, they might also get it into their heads to attack your relatives as revenge against you. They are safer where they are."

"Where are they?"

"Winchester."

A few minutes later, Harry was down the hill, out the gate, and apparating.

"What do you want here?" was the first thing Vernon Dursley said upon opening the door.

Harry was equally blunt. "I want to talk to my aunt."

"What if she doesn't want to talk to you?"

"Why don't you ask her and find out?"

Uncle Vernon didn't ask Harry in, so the boy stood outside for a minute until Aunt Petunia came to the door. "Yes?" she asked, and her tone and expression were noticeably less hostile than Vernon's.

"Can we talk?" Harry asked. "Somewhere besides the front yard."

Petunia glanced over her shoulder. "Not here," she said quickly, then called into the house, "I'm going for a walk, Vernon."

There was a grunt from the living room, but it appeared that Petunia's going out was preferable to Harry's coming in, and Vernon did not object. Petunia put on a jacket and stepped out, closing the door behind her. "I suppose you want to talk about your mother," she said. "There's a little place down the street where we can get something to eat."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Harry asked. "I thought I'd have to threaten you or something, and…"

"It's been a hard year," said Petunia, and left it at that. They walked for a while in silence.

"Actually," Harry said after several minutes, "I want to talk to you about someone else as well."

"Who?"

"Three years ago, after Dudley and I were attacked by dementors, you said you knew about them because you overheard my mom talking to…"

"That horrid little boy! I was so happy when we moved to Surrey and she couldn't talk with him anymore."

"When did you move?"

"The spring when she was twelve. She came back from that first year at Hogwarts, and went right to Surrey."

They'd arrived at the shop. They went in, took a table near the window, and ordered tea and pastry. "The truth is," Harry said as he put sugar and milk into his cup and added the hot tea, "that the one I want to talk about right now is the horrid little boy." Petunia stared at him, open-mouthed. "Do you remember his name?" Harry went on, hoping a direct question would produce an answer.

"He was the Snape boy – Richard, I think." Petunia was now looking at her pastry instead of at Harry, and didn't see the shocked look on his face. "He was one of those people, you know. From the other side of the river. Rough, uneducated. Father used to have to work with them as a supervisor at the mill. Snape, the father, was a boozer. After the mill closed – I was very young then – most of them left for places like Manchester or Sheffield. A few stayed to work the mine in the next town. Snape senior was one of them. By the time Lily started school, we didn't have many of those nasty children from across the bridge in our classes any more. I think the son was the only one in Lily's class."

"So he didn't have a lot of friends."

"I don't remember ever seeing him with any. He was always off by himself in a corner of the schoolyard. A strange, odd boy. Uniform too big, long hair, the stammer…"

"Snape stammered when he was a boy!" Harry laughed out loud. He wasn't sure how many more of these revelations he could take. It was funny thinking of Snape like that, but it was sad, too. "Did you ever see his parents?"

"Not his father. He was never at the school. I think I saw his mother a couple of times. Another strange-looking one. Old, poor clothes – a sour, waspish expression – stern-looking –" Petunia closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember. "They stood a bit apart, like they weren't together, like they didn't want to touch each other. They knew they were different from everyone else. You could tell. I just didn't know until later how different."

It turned out that Petunia had a lot of bits of information that Harry pieced together easily. Information about a strange, isolated young wizard who suddenly discovered that in his bleak, lonely life there was another magic child, someone he could be friends with, talk to. Harry could sympathize with that child. It was just strange when he remembered it was Professor Snape. He and Petunia talked for nearly two hours about Lily and 'that Snape boy,' and then Harry walked her back to the new home, thanked her, and said goodbye without going into the house.

A few minutes later, he apparated to the Burrow.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 4**

Harry apparated at a distance from the Burrow so no one would hear the distinctive 'pop' and run to see who it was. Around him the lane and the woods were empty, though he rather hoped that was only an illusion. There were supposed to be aurors around protecting the place.

Standing there, looking down the road at the Burrow, marveling again at how its crazy, ramshackle stories could have remained stable even five minutes, Harry allowed himself to remember how much he loved this place. Which led him to think about the danger it was now in. Which reminded him how many people were now at risk to protect it. And who.

_I can't tell them. They're too open. All that time I hated him for the occlumency lessons, and he really was trying to teach me something important. If I'd learned it then, Sirius might still be alive. Given a choice, I'd rather have Sirius, but there isn't a choice, there never had to be a choice, I could have kept them both alive, and now I won't fail them both. I can't tell Ron. And therefore, I can't tell Hermione._

Harry walked towards the Burrow, but had not gotten within a hundred yards before the door burst open and figures flew toward him along the road. First and foremost was Ginny, followed closely by Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley. Harry was grabbed, and hugged, and patted, and dragged back into the Burrow by his affectionate captors.

"We were so disappointed when you didn't come back Wednesday night," Mrs. Weasley said as she loaded the table with food. "We got your owl, of course, but we'd have preferred you, and such terrible things have happened since then…"

Harry choked on a bit of bread and quickly recovered. "What happened?" he demanded in the first stage of panic, then immediately realized what it must be and tried not to calm down too much.

Hermione laid a copy of Thursday's _Daily Prophet_ in front of him. "They've escaped," she said. "They've all escaped and Merlin knows where they are by now. We were afraid they might go after you."

The front page article was about Snape, Macnair, Yaxley, and the Carrows. Considering how little factual information the _Prophet _had to go on, it had produced a remarkably detailed account. The basic data was that the boat had left the coast during a storm with five prisoners bound for Azkaban and had not arrived at its destination. Period. The published story contained quoted conversation. It even had Snape frothing at the mouth and exhorting the other escaped prisoners to vow eternal hatred toward and vengeance against Harry Potter. The whole article was quite lurid and very entertaining.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I heard about it Wednesday afternoon in Dumbledore's office."

"You were meeting in the Headmaster's office?" said Hermione, and it was her 'I'm about to tell you something really unpleasant' voice.

"Sure," Harry replied. "Why?"

"Because it's dangerous. I've already written a letter to the Ministry and to the _Daily Prophet_ insisting that there be an immediate meeting of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts to appoint a new headmaster."

"Why?" Harry repeated.

"Because legally Snape's still headmaster. That means that the portraits have to serve him. Don't you realize, Harry, that everything you say in the presence of any of their portraits could be passed on to Snape and the other Death Eaters in a matter of minutes? Seconds even?"

"We've been that worried, mate," said Ron. "We were afraid they'd already got you. After what you did to that lord of theirs, do think a bunch of evil gits like Snape and his pals would hesitate to smear you all over the landscape?"

It was at that moment that Harry fully realized the immense subtlety of Snape's job. He had to accept his friends' assessment of the danger while at the same time frustrating their plans to thwart Snape. He had to go along with his friends' plans to toss Snape into a dark pit, and at the same time give Snape all the logistical and strategic support he could. It looked from Harry's position a lot like walking a tightrope. At that precise moment, Harry wasn't sure he was up to the balancing act.

_How did he manage to do this for the last… three years? More? Or for the time Dumbledore said he was a spy the first time, back twenty years ago? How does anyone manage to do this?_

"I don't know," was what Harry said. "I'd think they'd be more interested in just getting away than coming after me. I mean, I can't be that important to him."

"That's where you're wrong, mate," said Ron. "You knew from the beginning that he hated you for getting rid of his boss the first time. You knew he always had it in for you, and you were right. We've got to protect you, and we've got to try to get him before he can get to you, the rotten git."

"Who's a rotten git?" said a voice from the stairs, and they all turned to face George, a rather haggard-looking George, who was descending from the upper rooms into the kitchen.

They all moved over to make room at the table, and Mrs. Weasley started fussing at once. "Here dear, just sit there. How's your head feeling? Can I get you something? You haven't had breakfast yet and it's lunch time. Did you sleep well?"

"Lay off, mum, I'm all right," George grumbled, but he didn't have a joke or a witty response, and Harry could see why Mrs. Weasley was worried.

The Weasley and Prewett families had gathered five days earlier, on Sunday, for Fred's funeral, and Fred now lay in a freshly turned plot at the far end of the garden where the ground rose a little to give a nice view of the house, and where Mrs. Weasley could see it through the kitchen window. George had been uncharacteristically somber throughout the event, and it concerned Harry to see he hadn't yet recovered. Of course, Harry had to remind himself, it was only a week since Fred died.

"So," George repeated, "who's the rotten git?"

"Snape," Ron replied. "Harry's got this daft idea that Snape isn't dangerous anymore, and doesn't think he needs to be careful. The rest of us –" he indicated Hermione and Ginny – "think we ought to go after the rotter and finish him for good."

"Ginny's not going after anything," said Mrs. Weasley. "She's under age." There was a strange, hard gleam in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, something that had been born in the fight against Bella Lestrange, and it was troublesome to Harry that she didn't order both Ron and George to stay home and out of harm's way, especially since she'd already lost one son.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione softly, "are you saying it's okay for us to hunt for Snape?"

Mrs. Weasley's turned her back to them as she dished out plates of shepherd's pie and poured glasses of lemonade for their lunch. There was a fierceness to her movements, as though she was attacking the food instead of serving it. Then she levitated everything onto the table and joined them.

"The Ministry," she said flatly, "has had two shots at locking that man up for good and it botched both of them. I say he's fair game for anyone who can take him."

Ron's fork was already halfway to his mouth. "Two shots? What d'ya mean?"

"Just that he's slipped out of Azkaban twice, now, and I doubt he'll give the Ministry a third chance."

"I thought Dumbledore spoke up for Snape the first time and that's why he was never accused of anything," Hermione said. "That's what Harry told us."

"Never accused!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Not only accused, but tried and found guilty of treason, conspiracy, and being an accomplice in more than fifty attacks on wizards and muggles, including the deaths of my two brothers. He was sentenced to fifty-five years in Azkaban."

"Mum, why didn't you ever tell us this before?" George asked, clearly stunned at the information.

"Because Dumbledore took charge of him, said he was a spy for the good side. They suspended the sentence for as long as he stayed at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's authority. Everything about the trial was made top secret. You have no idea how angry I was about it. I wanted every Death Eater to pay for what they'd done, and there were so many of them wriggling out of their punishment. He was one of them."

George whistled softly. "Dumbledore got him out of a fifty-year stint in Azkaban and Snape pays him by tossing him off a tower? I always knew he didn't have a heart, but that…"

"…is the kind of treason you'd expect from a Death Eater," Mrs. Weasley finished for him. "Do you know what they were saying last week, Harry, after the battle was over? That there in the Great Hall when you were facing You-Know… Drat! Habit! Voldemort! That when you were facing Voldemort, he was going to hit you in the back to save his master. I'll never forgive Hagrid for stopping the hanging."

Harry stared around the table at the fierce, almost fanatical faces of Hermione and the Weasleys. _This is what I sounded like_, he thought, _all those times when Dumbledore was trying to make me understand that I was wrong about Snape, but he couldn't tell me everything. I wouldn't just take his word for it, and they won't just take my word for it. And I can no more tell them the whole story than Dumbledore could because we don't know who all the free Death Eaters are – there might be some right here in Ottery St. Catchpole, we're not that far from Bristol – and if even one gets wind of it…_ Harry didn't know exactly where the safe house was, but he knew the odds in a fight there were thirteen to one and would soon get worse.

"I don't think we should go after Snape," Harry said slowly. "We wouldn't even know where to start."

"Of course we would," Hermione snapped. "Honestly, Harry, what is wrong with you! A year ago you'd have moved heaven and earth to get at Snape for killing Dumbledore. Well he still hasn't been punished for killing Dumbledore, and in the meantime look how many other people have died because Dumbledore was gone. Snape made it possible for Voldemort to take over. Snape's responsible for Fred's death. And Lupin, and Tonks, and Moody, and Colin, and Dobby…"

"Stop it!" Harry shouted at her. "You don't…!" Then he stopped. He'd almost blurted it out… almost. He switched course quickly. "You don't know where to start, where the boat is, what the Ministry is already doing to round them up. We'd just get in the way."

"Hermione's right," said Ron. "There's something wrong with you. We know Snape's out there with at least four other Death Eaters. We know the Ministry is still disorganized and might not be capable of any immediate action. And us? We're seasoned fighters. We know what we're doing. We can get him, pay him back for everything this has cost us, and you? You want to lie down and take it easy for a while. It's like something in you has died. Well we're going to resurrect it. Where do we start, Hermione?"

"I was thinking that Mr. Weasley might help us," said Hermione. "The _Prophet_ says they were going to Azkaban on a boat from northern Scotland during a storm. There's no indication the escaped prisoners used magic, and I don't think a bunch of wizards would know how to steer a boat, so if they managed to get to shore it was because the storm blew them ashore. If Mr. Weasley knows where the boat sailed from, we could get wind speed and direction from the muggle government…"

"They know things like that?" George asked.

"Naturally," said Hermione, no longer surprised by such questions from wizards. "We could calculate where the boat might have landed and start our search there. If they managed to get their hands on a wand, we might still be able to detect magic. It's only been two days. Maybe we could find out where they went."

"Great!" Ron pronounced enthusiastically. "Could we get hold of Dad now?" He looked appealingly at his mother.

Mrs. Weasley pushed her chair back, stood, and went to the fireplace. There she threw a handful of floo powder into the fire and said, "Arthur Weasley!" a moment later Mr. Weasley's face appeared in floo-green flames.

"Is something wrong, dear?" he asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.

Mrs. Weasley quickly explained what they needed, and Mr. Weasley agreed to look for the information. He contacted them after an hour, during which time Harry sat uncomfortably, forced to listen to plan after plan of what to do with the five Death Eaters once they were recaptured.

All six of them gathered around the fireplace to hear Mr. Weasley's report. "It's the oddest thing," he said, "but the information about the boat and what happened to it seems to be classified at the highest level. It's not that my contacts in Law Enforcement won't tell me, it's that they don't know either."

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived.

"So," continued Mr. Weasley, "I looked up the records for the last big transport two years ago, after the fight in the Department of Mysteries. That isn't classified." He gave them the location on the coast of Scotland, and the name of the owner of the boat. He also provided the approximate location of the island where Azkaban prison was.

Hermione then apparated home and was back in half an hour with the information on Wednesday's storm.

"How'd you get that?" Ron demanded.

"I telephoned the Public Weather Service," she replied as if it were the most common thing in the world.

Taking Ron's hand, Hermione dragged him toward the door. "Well," she asked, looking back at Harry, "are you coming or not?"

They apparated to the site given them by Arthur Weasley. There was the low cliff, the house that was little more than a hut, the two grizzled seaman who could have been twins, and in a small inlet at the foot of the cliff, a boat rocked at anchor. Everything looked perfectly normal.

"Excuse me," Hermione said. "Do you take people to Azkaban prison?"

"Who wants to know?" one of the seamen asked.

"I'm a reporter with _Witch Weekly_, and we want to do a human interest story about what happened here Wednesday."

"Didn't nothing happen here Wednesday, lady. We weren't even here Wednesday. Go away."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. Harry said nothing. Ron started, "But _The Daily Prophet_ said…"

The man laughed. It was a rough sound, like the land around him. "I'd have taken you for too smart to believe everything the _Prophet_ says."

"But you do take the boat out to Azkaban," Hermione insisted. "Maybe not Wednesday, but sometimes."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Who are you really?"

"We were at Hogwarts a week ago," Ron blurted out. "For the battle. One of the men the _Prophet_ says was on that boat killed my brother. We want to be sure he doesn't get away."

"Hey, Pete," the man called, and his twin joined the group.

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"You been listening?"

"Yeah."

"What d' you think?"

"How much is the Ministry paying us for Wednesday?"

"Nothing. You know that."

"Then we owe them nothing."

Charlie turned aside to spit on the ground. "Never liked the Ministry anyway. Yeah, we take them out. Never brought any back though. Tuesday we had two groups. Five and five. Then the storm came and they said not until Thursday. So we went down to Aberdeen. Weathered the storm there, came back on Thursday and took out another five. That was it. Didn't see the _Prophet_ until the afternoon. Still don't know why they printed that story. Sure didn't talk to us."

"What direction is Azkaban from here?" Hermione asked.

The man pointed north by northwest.

"Thank you." She turned to Ron and Harry. "Let's go back," she said. "We won't find out anything more here."

They apparated back to the Burrow, where Hermione demanded and got complete silence while she did her calculations. "Here," she said finally. "They most probably got washed up somewhere along this twenty-five-mile stretch of beach." She stood and folded up her maps and papers. "Who's coming with me? The more of us who come, the more beach we can cover."

All six came, even Ginny after Ron explained to his mother how empty and deserted the north coast was. On arrival, Hermione cast a magic-detection spell. "Nothing," she told the others. "No wizards ever come here to use their magic at all. This could be easier than I thought."

Quickly Hermione taught them all the spell, and they traveled in pairs. Mrs. Weasley and George stayed next to the water. Harry and Ginny moved along the cliff edge. Ron and Hermione were a little further inland. They would cast the detection spell, then focus on a spot a hundred yards ahead of them, apparate there, and cast the spell again. Thus they were able to move rather quickly down the coast.

They'd covered nearly twelve miles when Hermione sent sparks up from her wand and they all joined her. "It was here," she said, indicating the ground around them. "Someone used magic here fairly recently."

Hermione took several minutes to explore the area while the others watched. "Here," she said finally, pointed to a small ravine. "Here was a shield spell, a warming spell, and a drying spell. Right where you're all standing there were several disapparations, and there was a single disapparation and then a reapparation over there."

"So what do we do?" Ron asked.

"Well," Hermione mused. "It looks like one of them left and then came back, and then they all left, one apparation at a time. So I'd guess they only had one wand. I suggest following the one to find out what he was doing, then follow the group."

Harry, who'd been watching passively up to this point, suddenly realized what the one apparation was. He stepped forward. "I'll check that one out," he said. "As soon as I get back, we can follow the others."

The rest agreed. Harry focused on the apparation trail, spun, and found himself, as he knew he would, on the moors of Lancashire behind the row of cottages where Snape lived.

Harry did no exploring whatsoever. Instead he waited a decent interval of time, then apparated back to the north coast. "Nothing," he told the others. "A muggle community, but one with clotheslines in the back yards and clothes hanging on them. My guess is Snape knew a place he could go to steal clothes."

"Why'd he want to do that?" asked George.

"Because," answered Hermione, "they'd all be dressed in prison clothes. You're probably right. The best guess is Snape because of his muggle father. So he must be the one with the wand."

The next step was to follow the multiple apparations. This involved some discussion and weighing of the risks.

"The problem is," Hermione explained, "that if they apparated to different places from the same spot, a person trying to follow them could get caught in a multiple splinch. I'll go first."

"No you won't," Ron countered. "I'm not risking you in a multiple splinch. I'll do it."

"It's only logical," Hermione retorted, "for the one who's best at apparating to go first. And I'm a more qualified…"

"I don't think so," interjected Mrs. Weasley calmly. "I've been apparating since long before you were born, and I think I might be equally well qualified for this task. I'm going to do it."

Off to one side, Harry remained silent. He, alone of all of them, knew there was no danger of splinching because he, alone of all of them, knew where they were going. The trail, all four trails, led to Glasgow. In the end, Mrs. Weasley got her way and spun out of sight. She was back a moment later.

"No splinching," she said, "obviously. They all go to the same spot. It's an alleyway in a big city, I don't know which one. I did your spell, Hermione, dear. The detect magic one. There's been magic happening in that alley recently. A lot of it."

Now Harry was getting worried. What if the Death Eaters had disapparated from the same alley when they went to Norfolk? From Norfolk, Hermione would follow the trail to Bristol, and once they were in Bristol, Snape would be exposed to the other Death Eaters as a traitor and then…

Harry paused as a totally new thought hit him. What if they apparated into Bristol right into the hands of the Death Eaters? There were six of them, and thirteen Death Eaters, and Snape. Not good odds. But who were among the six? Harry Potter, Molly Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Ron Weasley – exactly the people the Death Eaters wanted revenge against. He, Harry, was allowing his friends to walk right into the clutches of people who intended to kill them! He couldn't let it happen, and he couldn't tell them why.

Hermione was stepping into the center of the spell activity. Harry had to do something. He did the only thing he could think of. He said, "No!" and he said it loudly.

"What do you mean, no?" Hermione demanded. "We're hot on their trail."

"Yeah. Well," said Harry, and then found his bearings. "So we go to this city, and then we follow the other apparation trail. What if you apparate right into the middle of a Death Eater meeting? What are you going to do then? I say we don't go jumping into places without a plan. I say we go back to the Burrow and come up with a plan of action, because right now we're just jumping around blindly, and that's going to get us killed."

Surprisingly enough, everyone agreed. Just because they could do it, they all apparated to Glasgow, still not knowing what city it was, and thence to the Burrow. That way, they would be able to start from Glasgow rather than from the bleak northern coast. Once in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley made tea and asked everyone about supper. It was, indeed, nearly seven o'clock in the evening. Nearly time for Mr. Weasley to arrive home from his job at the Ministry of Magic.

Mr. Weasley arrived, supper was served, and all had a good time around the kitchen table. Then they decided to postpone planning the next move (it was Harry's suggestion) until the following morning when they were fresher. Shortly after that, Harry remembered that he'd promised to check in with Shacklebolt at the Ministry, but that he could be back in an hour or so. He excused himself and left the house to disapparate.

"Follow him!" Hermione hissed at Ron.

"What?"

"Follow him and mark where he disapparates from. I'll be there as soon as he goes."

Harry left, Ron followed, and Hermione brought up the rear. Less than two minutes after Harry had apparated, Hermione's pop and then Ron's succeeded him. The two looked around. They were in Hogsmeade. They ran for the Hogwarts gate and were in time to watch Harry stride up the hill to the castle.

"Ron," Hermione whispered through clenched teeth as her eyes followed Harry's disappearing form, "has it occurred to you that he may have been Imperiused?"

Hermione and Ron apparated back to the Burrow to wait for Harry. Once there, Hermione filled everyone in on what they'd seen and voiced her doubts and fears.

"He's acting so strangely," she said. "Half the time he's just standing there listening while we plan. Have any of us ever known Harry to stay in the background during planning? And then he wants us to back away from Snape and the Death Eaters. Merlin, he's been dying to get at Snape ever since he watched Snape kill Dumbledore. Now he wants us to back away?"

"Why?" said George, and the lack of Fred by his side was highlighted in the seriousness of his tone. "I mean, what could affect him like this?"

"I think it's the Ministry," Hermione said with the gravity of a seer revealing an oracle. "Even though Voldemort's gone, I think the Death Eaters still hold the Ministry. They may even control Shacklebolt. We know that Snape can still control all the portraits of the headmasters because the Board of Governors hasn't replaced him yet. What if Harry's been Imperiused by Shacklebolt? It could happen. Where did Harry go tonight? He went to talk to the portrait of Dumbledore, the portrait that has to obey Snape. Harry's the one who didn't want us to follow the Death Eaters, and now he's the one who's passing information to the portraits and through the portraits to Snape. I say we can't trust him anymore."

"So what do we do?" Ron asked. "Do we tell Harry, 'Hey, you can't come to meetings anymore 'cause you're a servant of the dark side?' Do we have two totally different plans, the one we let Harry in on and the one we really intend? because I don't think I could remember both without mixing them up."

"And what exactly is your point?" Hermione asked scathingly.

"My point is that now we have to have a plan about Harry. Up until now we had to have a plan about us and Vol… Voldemort, and now we have to have a plan about Harry. Harry's always been the one thing we could depend on. The one beacon on the one right path, but now you say we can't trust him and we have to work around him. I hate this."

"Ron," Hermione said, and now her voice was gentle, "where did Harry say he was going?"

"To the Ministry," Ron replied miserably.

"And where did he go?"

"To Hogwarts."

"Ron, there's something he won't trust us with. How can we trust him if we don't know what it is?"

It was agreed. Harry had to be kept out of the real planning until it was certain whether or not he'd been Imperiused. It was decided that if ever Harry's action seemed about to thwart the plans of the group, Ron would immobilize him. Ron was chosen as being the one Harry would think the others would be least likely to trust with such a task.

Harry returned to a Burrow ostensibly at peace and in the process of retiring for the night.

xxxxxxxxxx

On the morning of the same Friday, Severus Snape awoke in the Death Eater safe house in Bristol to the melodious sound of Yaxley's snores. Mulciber, too, was still asleep, but Macnair had stepped out of the room. There was a window with a shade, so Snape looked out at dawn just beginning to lighten the sky.

_Nearly five o'clock. Macnair's wandering about. Who else would probably be up?_ Snape immediately ruled out Crabbe, Goyle, or Rowle, but thought that the Lestranges or Travers might already be awake. _Is a cup of coffee worth the chance of running into Macnair? All I have is a borrowed wand, but that's all he has. A stalemate is a decent price to pay for the coffee._

Swinging his legs off the bed, Snape sat up and found there was a washstand next to the chair with his clothes. It was good having the elf. He quickly washed and got dressed, then quietly left the room. No one was in the corridor, and as the Carrows were in the kitchen, Snape simply stopped there and said, "Coffee, please."

Jergy appeared instantly with a mug of hot coffee. "Mr. Snape wants breakfast?" the elf asked politely.

"Not yet. Thank you," Snape said, and the elf vanished. Snape decided to explore, so he took his coffee out of the office area into the main building of the warehouse. _This is a functioning muggle business,_ he thought as he examined the massive elevator. _How do we move in and out without attracting attention. Entirely by apparation?_

"Another early bird," Macnair's voice came from behind Snape. "I'll bet you're worried about security. Avery's already up and gone, trying to arrange somewhere else for us to be that'll be quieter and less public. A country cottage, maybe. I've been snooping, too. I'd show you what I've found except none of it's the slightest bit interesting."

"I already have a pretty good idea," Snape said, sipping the hot coffee. "Places like this are part of the cultural background."

"Ah, yes. The muggle blood. I've 'worked' with muggles from time to time and have been amazed by their resilience. It's probably where you get that strength I admire so much."

"I'm not strong," Snape said quickly.

"Not to lift weights," Macnair agreed. "More on the order of endurance. The ability to hold on, and by holding on to survive. I've always wanted to test that quality in you."

"I'll pass," said Snape and started to return to their suite of rooms, but Macnair blocked his path.

"I really do think it has something to do with the muggle blood. In some ways, muggles are stronger than wizards."

"Isn't that heresy? I'm surprised you'd be so open."

"Oh, but the Dark Lord thought so, too. About you, I mean. Not many would accept the punishment, the pain, and turn it into a tool. You never tried to run, never tried to deflect his wrath onto someone else… He valued that; it even saved your life at least once. I value it, too."

Macnair was taller than Snape, so Snape didn't see Rabastan come out of the suite. He heard him, though. "As I live and breathe, a tryst in the early hours. Bella always did love the tender affection you two had for each other."

"There," Macnair said triumphantly, "I'm not the only one. Others have noticed it as well."

"I," said Snape, glaring at Rabastan, "am going to kill you the first opportunity I get, you rotten back-stabber."

Rabastan laughed. "I wouldn't do me in just yet if I were you. You may end up with me as the only defense you've got. Lovely picture, that. Meanwhile, having you here makes the rest of us sleep easier. As long as it's you he pines after, Severus, and not us, we're happy, and we'll take very good care of you."

"Thanks a lot," said Snape, not meaning it.

The freight elevator clanked and groaned into action at that moment, and soon after Avery joined them there in the corridor. "Is everyone awake?" he asked. "We need to be moving soon."

"Dolph is awake, but I doubt he's up," said Rabastan. "As for the rest, I haven't seen or heard from them yet. Just these two lovebirds."

Avery gave Rabastan a look of pure disgust. "I wish you wouldn't encourage him in his 'peculiarities.' It's not fair to Sev, and it disturbs the rest of us."

"I think it's funny," Rabastan grinned.

"Let's get the others." Avery headed for the door to their rooms. "This place will be full of muggles by seven, and we want to be far away from here before then. I've found a place we can go that's a lot bigger and more comfortable than this. Once we figure out what we want to do, we can start bringing in the troops."

Waking up the rest of the Death Eaters turned out to be a monumental task, especially in the cases of Crabbe, Goyle, and the Carrows. By the time everyone was up, dressed, and ready for breakfast, the first of the muggle workers was arriving.

"We leave now and breakfast later," Avery insisted, and instructed Jergy to transport all their supplies to the new location. Then they established an order of apparating, Avery first and the others on his apparation trail, ending with Rabastan.

When it was Snape's turn, he focused and turned, and after the usual discomfort, found himself once again on the coast, this time a coast of rolling green hills and scattered woodland, that dropped in a low cliff to tumbled rocks and wide water that might have been the sea but for the still perceptible direction of its slow movement – the mouth of the mighty Severn river.

Snape stepped quickly away from his apparation point to make room for the next Death Eater coming in. Avery and the others stood to one side. A ways behind them, across a neat field where horses grazed, was a good-sized country house, not quite a manor house, but not a cottage either.

When all fourteen Death Eaters had arrived, they strolled up the green hill to the house.

The owner of the house and the land around it was Nathan Nutcombe. He ushered the group into his home with the obsequiousness of a man whose only claim to status was the fact that the last time a muggle married into his family had been in 1827. If blood status wasn't important, than it was a given that Nathan Nutcombe wasn't important.

The man had the gall to look down his nose at Snape. "What's this?" he asked in the rounded tones of Oxford, what people in Snape's neighborhood had referred to as 'BBC English.'

"Who's this?" Snape corrected in equally affected BBC. "Mustn't forget the distinction between animate and inanimate, what?"

"Just so, just so," Nutcombe replied, not sure how to respond.

"Quite," Snape countered, and with a nod sailed into the entry hall.

They all entered the dining room where a long, formal table had been set, and the buffet loaded with a hunt breakfast. Crabbe, Goyle, the Carrows, and Rowle were at the buffet like flies on honey. The others held back with some amusement. Then Snape took a plate and joined the lower classes, at which point no one held back. Gathered once more around the table, they ignored formality and sat where each willed, which left Snape neatly sandwiched between Mulciber and Macnair.

Here, over breakfast, the fourteen Death Eater commanders were introduced to their host. When they got to Snape, Nutcombe cried out, "Oh, you're the teacher chappie!" to a round of thunderous laughter.

"Have I said something amiss?" Nutcombe asked.

"Only that he's still officially Headmaster of Hogwarts," Rabastan crowed. "You know, in the shoes of Albus Dumbledore…"

"But Albus was so impeccably…" Nutcombe was now deeply embarrassed.

"That's all right," said Snape. "I don't think I've ever been impeccably anything… except a servant of the Dark Lord's. And that makes us all equals, does it not?"

Everyone raised a glass and toasted the Dark Lord, and then breakfast began in earnest. The perennially hungry made several trips to the groaning board. The more peckish, like Snape, were content with what they had originally taken. Nutcombe extolled the virtue of his house-elf, Snape forbore to mention that a week earlier he'd been feasting on Hogwarts fare, and everyone got along swimmingly.

Then breakfast was over, extra pots of coffee and tea appeared, and the real discussion began. It became immediately clear that Rodolphus Lestrange and Cecil Crabbe shared a common vision – instant, violent action.

"I say we go right in and hit them now!" Crabbe had been banging his fist on the table for a good fifteen minutes, repeating the same words over and over like a litany. "Right now they're not expecting anything. Right now is a complete surprise. Get them now, fast, and deal with them slow later, after we have them."

"And run right into their security spells. That's really bright, that is," Mulciber sneered. "We need to scout the terrain a bit. Find out what we're facing. Then go in."

"No," cried Rodolphus, "we can't wait. Every day makes them more secure. I say we get them before they have a chance to make their defenses stronger."

"That would just be giving ourselves to them like turkeys on a platter," was Macnair's opinion. "A little reconnaissance wouldn't hurt, and it could do a lot of good."

"We may," Snape said calmly, "even be able to assure better success by holding off longer."

"Why do you always go against me!" Crabbe screamed at Snape, to Snape's great astonishment. "Are you trying to protect Potter and the Weasleys?"

"I was merely suggesting we lull them into a false sense of security…"

"No! You don't want to do this at all! You don't even care that my son's dead. You never had any respect for Vincent, for who he was or what he could do! You treated him like dirt…"

"That's a lie!" Snape shouted back at him. "I treated Vincent exactly the same way I treated every other Slytherin student…"

Crabbe launched himself at Snape which, considering there was a heavy table between them, was not a wise thing to do. Snape jumped back, knocking over a chair in the process and nearly falling himself. Mulciber and Macnair interposed themselves between Crabbe and Snape, as Snape desperately tried to figure out how the situation had deteriorated so quickly.

"I'm not the liar! You're the liar!" Crabbe screamed. "You never treated Vincent the way you treated Draco! Never!"

They wrestled Crabbe into a chair where he sat hunched over, his shoulders shaking. After a few minutes to allow the man to calm down, Snape knelt on one knee next to him.

"Cecil, Draco's different. I knew Lucius and Narcissa long before they were married. I held Draco on his naming day. I come close to being a sort of an uncle. How I treated Draco had nothing to do with Vincent or with any other student in Slytherin."

"You were friends with Lucius?"

"Yes, of course. What other reason would I have for sometimes paying more attention to Draco? I never let it affect his marks, his privileges, or his punishments."

"You never let him… let Vincent play on the Quidditch team."

"I'm not the one who decides who plays on the team, the team Captain does. But Vincent did make the team. He became a Beater in fifth year."

"But he said… They could've won if he'd been the Beater."

"I don't know what he told you. I know he was the Beater. We did lose to Gryffindor, both then and in sixth year, but it wasn't because of his playing. Maybe he wanted to give you only wins."

"That would've been like Vincent, always trying to make me happy."

Snape paused. Timing was everything. "Cecil," he said gently, "did you ever hear the saying, 'Revenge is a dish best served cold?'"

Crabbe looked up then, his eyes glittering. "Served cold," he repeated. "I could do that."

Rodolphus, too, now appeared to be hooked. "What's your idea?"

"I'll tell you what I think," Snape replied, "but I'm open to discussion. Both of you have lost far more in this than I have. We've all lost the Dark Lord and our positions, but you've lost loved ones as well. But remember, the Ministry knows we're out here. They know the five of us didn't make it to Azkaban, and they know the rest of you are unaccounted for. It's only been a week. They've got to be expecting us to do something. Either that or run like rabbits. The longer we wait, the more it's going to look like we ran like rabbits, and after a while they'll lower their defenses. That's when we strike. When they're not expecting it."

"I don't know," said Rodolphus. "I want her to suffer for what she did to Bella. How is that going to happen if we wait?"

Snape rose to face the younger Lestrange brother. "Right now, the danger is too near. Right now they haven't yet started thinking about the future. Right now another death will be a blow, but not a tragedy. But – I want you to picture a time five years in the future. Ginny Weasley is an attractive young woman about to be married. Molly Weasley is in heaven dreaming of a rosy future filled with grandchildren. It's so real and so imminent she can taste it. And then you step in and say, 'Remember what you did to my wife? Well you can kiss your dream goodbye.' And you snatch it from her, just when she has it in her grasp. The icy water of revenge thrown in her face just when she was so sure that happiness was secure. Isn't that something to work for rather than take a chance that we'll be stopped before we can execute our plans because we went ahead too fast, without planning?"

"I don't want to wait five years," said Crabbe.

"I'd be willing to wait twenty to be sure the revenge was right," Snape retorted. "But it doesn't have to be that long. It just has to be carefully planned. It just has to be right."

Mulciber chuckled. "Why didn't I notice, when we were students together at Hogwarts, how evil you were?"

"I wasn't," Snape replied. "Not then. It takes sixteen years living under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore to make you truly evil. I only regret that when it happened, my revenge came too quickly. But he knew before he died that it was because of me."

"Wicked," said Mulciber, and behind him Macnair ran his tongue over his lips.

Priorities now shifted, and instead of plans for the immediate abduction of Ron or Ginny Weasley, the group of Death Eaters talked about surveillance and using local, unsuspected operatives as agents. It was with a map and a train timetable in his hands, working out distances and timing for spy work that could not be magically detected, that Snape asked the first truly important question.

"Just how many people are available to assist us in this?"

By this time Avery, too, had been sucked in to the scheming. "Seventeen," he said. "Plus us. That makes thirty-two." He looked significantly at Nutcombe. "I assume you want in."

"Oh, of course," Nutcombe replied. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

The next step, at least in the opinions of the Lestranges, Crabbe and, less openly, Snape, was for all the available Death Eaters to meet together. Avery did not agree. "I'm not putting all my people together in one place until I know it's absolutely secure," he insisted.

"Just exactly who here," Rabastan demanded, "don't you trust?"

"When it comes to the safety of my cell," Avery replied, "I don't trust anyone."

"Does that mean," Snape asked quietly, "that we're never going to meet all together in the same place?"

"Not until I'm sure it's safe."

"We need information. If they don't already have it, they need to reconnoiter," Rabastan pointed out. "We've got to talk to someone. Maybe not everyone together in the same place, but someone."

Avery was being stubborn. "I can pass on any instructions. You don't have to meet anyone."

A thought occurred to Snape. "Do all the members of your cell know each other? Are you nervous about them finding out who else is in the cell?"

It turned out to be the right guess. Avery admitted that he'd been operating the cell as two distinct entities. That way operations could continue even if one group was blocked.

"Sounds dangerous to me," said Mulciber. "What if the two halves of the cell started fighting each other, not knowing they were on the same side?"

"There's a ban on initiating independent action. They know there are more of them than their own group. They just don't know who."

"Why don't we meet with one half first," Snape suggested, "then half of us stay with them while you take the rest to meet the other half. That way only you and the group with you would know everyone. You could select the group that accompanies you."

Avery agreed, and went with Nutcombe to another part of the house to make floo contact with his people. He was back in half an hour. "They have a lot of calls to make, but we'll meet the first group around three o'clock this afternoon, and the second group around five."

Rabastan spoke up. "We should know before we meet them who stays with who. We don't want the rank and file witnessing any arguments in the upper levels. When we split, it should look natural."

That was also something they could all agree on. Avery would lead one group, and Rabastan the other. Rodolphus and Mulciber naturally went with Rabastan, while Crabbe and Goyle just as naturally stayed with Avery. The old Bella/Lucius rivalry was being perpetuated. Selwyn, Travers, and the Carrows chose to go with the Lestranges. Rowle, Macnair, and Yaxley stayed with Avery. Snape chose to accompany Rabastan. Macnair joked about absence making the heart grow fonder, and Snape didn't argue. It was, after all, Macnair who had the trace, and Snape who had the portrait. This way both groups were covered. Nutcombe would, for the moment, stay in his own home, keeping it as a safe house for them.

There was time to roam the grounds, time which they all took advantage of, Snape going to the cliff that looked out on Severn's mouth and the Bristol Channel where he was able to take out Dumbledore's picture and open it. The picture frame remained empty until Snape said, "It's all right, we're alone."

"Thank goodness," said portrait Dumbledore. "We were beginning to get worried. We did get your message, and there are aurors all around the Weasley home and in the town. The Weasleys, however, have not yet been informed. We didn't want them to know about you. Harry knows, of course, and will help keep a watch on his friends."

"Good," said Snape. "We've decided to lay low for a while as we check out the situation. Nothing will happen today, though I can't guarantee further than that. Both Dolph and Cecil are powder kegs ready to blow. Avery's cell has seventeen active members. We're meeting half of them at three. Then half of us are going on to meet the second half of the cell. Avery's obsession with secrecy is mind-boggling. Macnair is following Avery, so you should have a trace on both locations, assuming the first group will hang around while we meet the second. Do you have a fix on this place?"

"From the moment Macnair arrived. Robards says they had no idea Nutcombe was a Death Eater. Are you sure these are going to be all the Death Eaters still at large."

"No," Snape sighed, "there's no way to tell. I'm assuming it's everyone still under Avery's command, but I haven't yet heard a word about Nott or Jugson. None of the others have any link to active cells, though, so the number still out there has to be small." Snape kept glancing at the house and now saw Mulciber coming toward the cliff. "Company," he told Dumbledore. "I don't know when I can contact you again." He closed the portrait and latched it shut, slipping it into his pocket.

"That's quite a view," said Mulciber as he reached the cliff edge. "Where's Ottery St. Catchpole from here?"

Snape looked around. "Due south, I think. Near Exeter and the English Channel." Neither man spoke for a while, then Snape continued. "I think they're going to get us all killed or captured."

"Whoa," Mulciber said with a grin. "When did the Cursemaster become so cautious?"

"I was always cautious. I always planned everything down the last move in the last second. That's why I was generally successful. And even then it was only generally."

"You fooled the rest of us then. We thought you were a daredevil."

"Daredevils end up dead."

"You really don't trust them, do you Sev? Which do you think is going to be the biggest problem?"

"Dolph."

"Why?"

"Cecil takes orders. Dolph's a hotshot who has to have his own way. He's had power for too long."

They stopped talking because Rabastan was approaching from the house. "A word with both of you," he said. "When we split up, I want one of you to go with Avery."

"You don't trust him." Mulciber was grinning. "I say Sev goes with the Avery group." Rabastan nodded.

"Why me?" Snape growled. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Simple," said Rabastan. "He'll trust you more than he'll trust Al. He'll follow your advice, and maybe he'll tell you things."

"I thought we were on the same side."

"I guess it just depends on how many sides there are to chose from. Besides, Macnair's going with Avery, too. It'll give the two of you a chance to be together."

"Rabs," said Snape with narrowed eyes. "You are evil. Truly evil."

At three they were all ready, and apparated one by one to Tiverton where they met seven of Avery's cell and explained the mission and the general plan. Avery gave orders for the cell to follow Rabastan's instructions. Not all of them seemed enthused by the idea, but they agreed. The Carrows, Selwyn, and Travers stayed with the Lestranges and Mulciber, while Snape, Yaxley, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, and Rowle then followed Avery's apparation trail two hours later to a safe house in the upper story of an eighteenth century stone building in Plymouth's Old Town.

The remaining ten members of Avery's cell were already waiting, and had even thought to provide a light repast, sort of a cross between tea and supper. They were clearly impressed that their little provincial group was the focus of attention of so many upper level Death Eaters. They also seemed more loyal and dedicated than the first, smaller group that were now in Rabastan's charge.

Introductions were made, refreshments served, and then the maps were pulled out and planning began. There was even a detailed map of Ottery St. Catchpole, on which the location of the Weasley's house had been circled in red. Snape was asking about contacts in the village when suddenly there was a slight vibration, a shimmer in the air, and a hum outside the windows.

"Aurors!" Rowle yelled, and spun before Snape could stop him, throwing himself full force against the anti-apparation shield that now enclosed the house. Rowle slumped brokenly to the floor, bleeding from mouth, nose, and ears.

"We've got to fight our way out!" Avery bellowed over the panicky cries of the surrounded Death Eaters. "Once you're outside the shield, apparate anywhere, then run like hell and apparate again. Three to five jumps and you should lose them. Don't wait for the others. Go!"

They pushed and shoved their way down the stairs, several not even bothering with the steps but jumping over the railing of the staircase to the floor below. Aurors were forcing their way in through the back yard and door, and the Death Eaters crashed through the front door out into the narrow, curved street. More aurors awaited them there, and the roundup started in earnest.

Avery was one of the first out the door, and was hit by two different aurors with simultaneous stun spells. Right behind him were Crabbe and Goyle, and the ten members of Avery's cell, with Snape, Yaxley, and Macnair bringing up the rear. Crabbe made it through like a battering ram and disapparated, but Goyle was brought down with Impediment spells.

Spells were now flying all around, and the aurors had their hands full holding and keeping the members of the cell. As much mayhem was caused by the percussion of shield spells as by the combat spells and Snape, thrown back against the wall of the building he'd just left, turned to his right and found himself face to face with Gawain Robards. A green bolt of light slammed Snape in the middle of his chest, and he crumpled at Robards's feet, still clutching his wand.

Robards seized the collar of Snape's jacket, and there was sudden, sharp pain as a needle-like object was thrust down and under Snape's collarbone, near the shoulder, then pulled out again. "That's your trace," Robards hissed. "You're escaping again." He took Snape's wand, dragged him to his feet, and started to bind his hands, but was hit by a red stunner that threw him backwards.

An arm slipped around Snape's ribcage, and Macnair's voice shouted, "Hold on!" Then Macnair spun, sucking the two of them into an apparation current and depositing them on open, deserted moor. "Run!" Macnair screamed, dragging the staggering Snape down the rocky slope toward a one track road. Just before they reached it, he spun again.

Macnair pulled Snape through five sickening, dizzying, bewildering apparations before ending up in a little alleyway between two townhouses in an area that looked remarkably like Bloomsbury. Stairs led down from the pavement to a flat that had once been the kitchen and scullery and the cook's quarters. Macnair hustled Snape down those stairs and into the dim lower rooms. There Snape was deposited gently on a threadbare sofa while Macnair checked that they hadn't been followed.

All was clear, so Macnair returned to where Snape reclined on the sofa, breathing heavily from the exertion and the pain in his chest. "What did he hit you with?" Macnair asked. "At first I was afraid it was a Killing Curse. You went down like a felled tree."

"Since I really do feel like a ram just smashed his horns into my sternum," Snape gasped, "my guess is Arieto."

"That would do it," Macnair said. "He got your wand, too. And these are quite nice." He was examining the cords that bound Snape's wrists.

"Lovely," said Snape. "Now take them off."

"I'm going to have to think about that," said Macnair. "I let you loose, and you might cut and run. I rather like the idea of you wandless and trussed up like a Christmas goose."

"Very funny," said Snape, but he was beginning to feel decidedly nervous.

"I'm serious," said Macnair. "All fun and games aside, I want to be able to sleep tonight. I won't be able to do that if I have to worry about you taking this wand. Let me check where that spell hit. It was pretty close to the heart." He piled pillows on one end of the sofa and helped Snape lie back more comfortably. Then he unbuttoned Snape's jacket and shirt. "That's a nasty little bruise. Let me get something for it."

Snape watched warily as Macnair searched the flat for ointments and salves. "I really would be more at ease if you untied my hands," he said after a moment. "I'm not going to run, and I'm not going to go for the wand. You just saved my neck, and I'm grateful."

Macnair stuck his head out of the kitchen, grinning. "Grateful. I like the sound of that. We'll see how grateful." Then he went back to rummaging in cupboards. "Here's a couple of things that might help," he said at last, and brought three jars into the front room. There he stood looking down at the tense and apprehensive Snape.

"You really are scared of me, aren't you?" Macnair chuckled. He pointed his wand at the cords and said, "Solvo," and they unwound, releasing Snape's wrists. He then handed Snape one of the jars. "This one would probably be the best."

Snape took the jar, removed the lid, and sniffed the ointment inside. He dipped a finger into it and began to massage the medication into the bruise on his chest. It helped. It helped a lot. "Thank you," he said to Macnair. "That's much better."

Macnair went back into the kitchen and returned with bread, cheese, apples, tea, and a bottle of firewhisky. "We need to figure out what we're going to do," he said, and poured Snape a glass of the whisky.

"Crabbe got away," said Snape. "I think they have Rowle, Avery, and Goyle. I saw them all go down. I don't know about the others."

"Rowle's an idiot," said Macnair. "He panicked and tried to go through a shield. I saw Yaxley disapparate, though, so four of us made it out. I don't think any of Avery's people got away. If they knew about us, do you think they knew about the others? Or about Nutcombe?"

The only thing discussion brought them was the resolve not to go rushing into anything. Macnair kept pouring Snape more firewhisky until Snape was decidedly lightheaded, then Macnair pulled him off the sofa and into a back room that was a bedroom. There he set up a cot and got out pajamas. "Put these on. I'm hiding all the clothes. And I'm using restraints. You're not wandering off anywhere tonight."

"There's no reason to bind me…" Snape began, but Macnair stopped him.

"I don't trust you. I'm tying you up. Just be happy I don't slap you in a full body bind. Now lie down."

Snape did as he was told. The bonds had enough play in them so he could shift his position a bit, but he couldn't free himself. After the regular sound of Macnair's breathing indicated he was asleep, Snape tried a few unbinding spells. None worked without a wand. Finally Snape, too, slept.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Saturday, June 13, 1998_

Snape was wakened the next morning by sudden, searing fire in the lower right side of his ribcage. His body jerked involuntarily against the restraints that held him to the cot, restraints that had tightened during the night, and he cried out in pain. The burning was succeeded by violent cramps in his intestines and what felt like a hammer blow to his right kneecap. He screamed, and would have doubled up in agony if he hadn't been securely tied down. The worst of the pain vanished almost immediately, leaving a residual ache and soreness that was almost as bad. Snape lay panting on the cot, his eyes closed, trying to get his bearings.

"That," said Macnair's cold voice next to him, "was a wake-up call. A friendly reminder of who's in charge here, and an expression of, shall we say, disappointment in finding trust and friendship misplaced."

Opening his eyes, Snape found Macnair sitting in a chair next to him, the tip of his wand again pressed against Snape's ribs. "I've place a silencing spell around the room," Macnair continued, "so this can get as entertaining as I want it to get." He was looking down at his left hand, rather than at Snape. Then he looked up and smiled. Macnair's smile was a terrible, cruel thing to see.

"What was that for?" Snape gasped, his mind racing over the previous day, trying to find a reason for Macnair's unexpected change of mood.

For answer, Macnair held up his left hand. He was holding a small rectangular object that might have been a miniature book or a large locket. "What's this?" he asked. It was Dumbledore's portrait.

There was no percentage in lying. Any attempt at subterfuge would only lead to worse treatment. "It's a portrait," Snape replied.

"Whose?"

"Albus Dumbledore's."

"Really? You carry around the picture of a man you killed, a man you say you hated? I'm intrigued, Severus. Do elaborate."

"He's a source of information. I'm headmaster; the portrait has to obey me. I carry it so I can send him to different locations to find out what's going on."

"Why Dumbledore? Why not one of the others?"

"Dumbledore has portraits in more different places than any of the others. He's more useful."

Macnair nodded in understanding, smiling again. He flipped open the portrait, but the frame was empty. "Pray tell then, Severus, dear boy, how you managed to acquire this portrait, when we started our little adventure in prison pajamas on the North Sea. You didn't happen to conceal it in a body orifice, now did you? That would be charming."

_Stick as close to the truth as you can - that way you won't be tripped up as easily._ "No," Snape confessed. "I lied to you. When I left you on the coast to find clothes, I apparated to my own home. The things you're wearing belonged to my father."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want you to ask me to take you there. I got the portrait at home. I thought it might be useful."

"Has it been?"

"Not really. I haven't been replaced as headmaster yet. It seems the staff is staying away from all the portraits of former headmasters as a security precaution. The same in the Ministry." Snape yipped in pain as Macnair tickled him with another burning spell. "What was that for?"

"Just a reminder. And to stay in practice. Would this picture help us find the Lestranges, or Crabbe and Yaxley, or see if anything was happening at Nutcombe's?"

"I doubt they'd be anyplace where there was a picture of Dumbledore. He can only travel between his own portraits when going from building to building."

"Call him for me." Macnair held the empty picture frame in front of Snape.

"Professor Dumbledore," Snape said. "Come here, I want you."

Instantly, Dumbledore's face appeared in the frame. Its expression was wooden and its voice mechanical. "Yes, Headmaster. How may I assist you?"

"Say good morning to Walden Macnair."

"Good morning, Mr. Macnair. I hope you are well. Is there something you need me for?"

"No," Macnair laughed. "Go back to sleep." He closed the portrait and looked down at Snape. "I'm going to let you get up," he said, "but put one foot wrong and you're immobilized."

xxxxxxxxxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 5**

That same Saturday morning, though a bit later, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were breakfasting in the cozy kitchen when the fireplace began to glow greenly. A female face appeared saying, "Call for Mr. Arthur Weasley from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Mr. Weasley left the table immediately to kneel in front of the fire. "Weasley here," he said, unable to keep the worry from either face or voice.

"Hold for Mr. Robards, please," said the secretary, and a moment later Gawain Robards was on the floo connection.

"Arthur, good morning," Robards said. "I hope you're well today."

"Reasonably so, and the same to you. I hope there isn't a problem."

"Ah, yes. I do apologize for disturbing you at this ungodly hour on a weekend, but we had information that Mr. Harry Potter was staying with you, and I was hoping to catch him before he stepped out. Would it be all right?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Weasley, then spoke over his shoulder. "Harry, it's for you."

Harry took Mr. Weasley's place on the hearth. "Good morning, Mr. Robards. What can I do for you?" Behind his back Hermione and Ron were exchanging I-told-you-so looks.

"I'm sorry to break up whatever you had planned Mr. Potter, but we located and raided a Death Eater cell yesterday evening. We were hoping you could come down and possibly identify some of them as being associated with known criminals. It would help us start processing them right away, and it would only take an hour or two of your time."

"Certainly," Harry replied. "Of course I'll help. Should I go to the telephone booth?"

"I have to visit Professor McGonagall on a small matter of school security at eight o'clock. Why don't we meet at Hogwarts, and then I can apparate you directly into the holding area? It would save time. Come at eight if you want to join me and Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Mr. Robards, I'll do that."

Hermione could hardly contain herself. As soon as Harry sat down, she said, "You're not really going, are you?"

"Of course I'm going," Harry retorted, his tone suddenly irritated. "Why wouldn't I go?"

"Doesn't it strike you as strange that the head of the auror division himself is talking to you by floo? Wouldn't it be more normal if someone lower down handled the matter? This isn't just an identification after a chance raid."

"Come off it, Hermione," said George. "He is the Chosen One, isn't he? I think it's only fitting the higher ups call him."

"Well now you mention it," said Mrs. Weasley, "I'm not so comfortable with the idea either. Are we sure they've weeded out everyone who worked for… for Voldemort? Harry could be walking into a trap."

"Molly, the Ministry is fine. I go there every day." Mr. Weasley took a bite of toast and then talked with his mouth full. "And if it's Robards taking him in, he'll have all the protection he needs."

"I'm just saying we should exercise caution, especially if something out of the ordinary…"

"Mum!" George cried. "Nothing's been ordinary for the past year!"

This little conversation repeated itself, almost verbatim, four more times, and then Harry announced he was on his way. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," he promised. We'll still have most of Saturday together." He left the house, walked down the road until he was past the Weasley's protection spells, then disapparated. He came into Hogsmeade about twenty-five feet away from Gawain Robards.

Other than a perfunctory greeting, Robards was silent until they were climbing the hill to the castle. Then he said, without looking at Harry, "I want you to know, despite my little charade this morning, that bringing you here was not my idea. I didn't think you needed to know, but Dumbledore insisted on it."

"You mean the whole thing was a lie?"

"Not entirely, not at all. We did raid a cell, and we caught all ten of the lower-level Death Eaters who were there. Plus Avery, Goyle, and Rowle. The only ones who got away were Crabbe, Yaxley, Macnair, and Snape."

"But that's good news, isn't it?" said Harry. "Catching them, but Snape's still operating?"

"Maybe not from Snape's point of view, but I'll let Dumbledore explain that part."

Not only was Professor McGonagall in the headmaster's office, Shacklebolt and Hagrid were there, too. Hands were shaken all around, and tea was produced, as well as an assortment of delectables for those for whom discussion developed the appetite.

"What's happening with Professor Snape?" was Harry's first question, even before he got his first cup of tea.

"I fear," said the portrait of Dumbledore, "that our Severus is not in an optimal situation. Gawain here had managed to disarm him and insert the trace, but the original intention was to take him back to the Ministry, debrief him, and then provide an escape story. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Walden Macnair stepped in, stunned Gawain, and side-along apparated out of the fight with Severus."

"What's fortunate about that?" Harry asked.

"It means that it is practically impossible to question Severus's cover story. He was about to be captured, but Walden saved him. His credentials remain impeccable. A second escape after capture, however, might have been questioned." The portrait paused. "Not that I have any doubts about Severus's ability to talk his way out of anything, mind you. Still, it makes that part easier."

"What we have now," said Shacklebolt, "is a shifting situation. Avery's cell was split in two. We had to find the second half, so we delayed attacking the first half. We captured the second half (minus four, of course), but that gave the first half the chance to return undetected home."

"Couldn't you just follow the apparation trails?" Harry asked.

"Not really. Tiverton has a wizard community, and the cell members didn't all disapparate from the same spot. We're following what we can, but it's slow, tedious work."

"Our problem at the moment," interjected Dumbledore, "is Severus. He was taken out of the fray by Walden, and the two of them are now in a flat in London. Severus has no wand, and is being controlled by Walden. Walden has discovered that Severus was carrying my portrait. I put on a 'dumb act,' and the situation is, for the moment, stable. But Walden has the portrait, and Severus has no wand."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Let us say," said Dumbledore, "that Walden's ideas of companionship are… unorthodox, and his attachments tend to be short, sharp, and brutal. If he and Severus connect quickly with the others, all will be well. If there is a delay, Severus may suffer for it."

"You know," Harry said slowly, "I hate all this talking around the subject. Is Macnair going to kill Professor Snape because Macnair likes to kill things?"

"Sort of," Robards replied.

"I thought you had a trace on Macnair."

"We do."

"And now you have a trace on Professor Snape. So go in. Get Macnair and let the Professor do his job."

"What if Yaxley saw Walden rescue Severus?" said Dumbledore. "If Severus then rejoins the Death Eaters while Walden is sent to Azkaban, they will all know Severus is a double agent. We do not know the sequence of events. At least not precisely enough to risk a life on that knowledge."

Hagrid spoke up then. "We're sorta waiting on Professor Snape t' tell us it's okay t' move in. He ain't done that yet, 'n when he does it'll prob'ly be a kinda hidden message. All we can do now is wait on him."

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

"We already know that Rodolphus Lestrange," said Shacklebolt, "wants either Molly Weasley, or Ginny Weasley, or both for the death of his wife Bella. Cecil Crabbe wants you and Ron Weasley for the death of Vincent. The Weasley's have fortified their house with protective spells. In addition, they have an auror guard. The best thing you can do is make sure they stay where they are, where they're safe."

"But not tell them the whole truth," said Harry, "because of legilimency."

"Exactly," everyone else concurred, even Hagrid and Professor McGonagall.

It was a rebellious Harry who walked down the hill from the castle to apparate back to the Burrow. _For seven years I operated under a certain set of beliefs because Professor Dumbledore thought it would hurt things if I knew the whole truth. It kept me from knowing a friend of my mother's. It nearly got him killed. Who's the great legilimens now that Voldemort's gone? Is there one? They haven't said. I don't think there is one. So why not tell people what they need to know?_

"Ron!" Harry yelled as he reentered the Burrow. "Hermione! Ginny! George! I've got something to tell you!"

Luna Lovegood had come to the Burrow while Harry was at Hogwarts and now they were eight. The others listened intently as Harry explained everything that he'd learned about what had happened the year before and what was happening now. Part way through, Mrs. Weasley buried her face in her hands, and they understood that she was weeping quietly. When Harry finished, she raised her head, her eyes glittering with tears.

"He never killed anyone?" she asked. "You're sure?"

"That's what Robards said," Harry replied. "He was never involved in raids or anything like that. They didn't even know, not even the aurors, that he was a Death Eater until it was all over and they were arresting people. Then they started getting names. The first person he killed was Dumbledore, because Dumbledore told him to, and then Moody so that Voldemort couldn't torture him. Moody asked him to."

"How can you be sure?" Hermione asked.

"Robards has the pensieve memory. From Moody's death. He and Shacklebolt wouldn't trust Snape until they were sure about Moody."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Then he didn't kill Fabian and Gideon. He wasn't even there. He didn't kill them, and he didn't watch them die." She sighed again, as if a heavy weight had lifted from her chest.

Luna reached across the table for toast and jam. "I thought it was so sweet that Dumbledore wanted to talk to me," she said, "but you wouldn't believe me."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron. "When did Dumbledore…"

"About the sword. It really was Dumbledore telling me to steal the sword."

Hermione stared at her. "You're right," she whispered. "Snape wanted you to try to take the sword. That gave him an excuse to put the fake sword in Gringotts so that no one would notice it was missing when they got the real one to Harry to destroy the Horcruxes with and…"

"It was him," Harry whispered. "Both times. It was him."

"What was him, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked in the ensuing silence.

"The patronus. The doe patronus. It was him. Because he loved my mum."

"Snape!" George's eyes were glittering now, too, but it was with mirth. "Old Snape?"

"They grew up in the same town. They were friends before they went to Hogwarts. Then she married my dad. Every time he looked at me, he had to remember that she married my dad." Harry looked around at the eager faces, then told them everything he'd learned from Petunia, from Mrs. Hanson, and from Hagrid.

Ron shook his head. "I can't believe that all this time Hagrid knew," he said.

"But it makes sense," Hermione insisted. "Wasn't it always Hagrid who told us we were wrong about Snape? It's because he knew."

"He told me about the Astronomy tower, too. Only I wouldn't believe it." Harry stood and started pacing the room. "When I told Hagrid that night that I'd just seen Snape kill Dumbledore, he said Dumbledore must have told him to do it. And I tried to kill him. He was just following orders, and I tried to kill him."

Mr. Weasley rose and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "It's for the best. As long as you thought he was loyal to Voldemort, you couldn't betray him. The fact that you hated him helped him stay alive."

"The question is," said Ginny, "what are we going to do about it now?"

"Nothing," Mr. Weasley replied. "We're going to do nothing. Far more competent people than we are already handling it. They've arrested how many Death Eaters already?"

"Thirteen," Harry answered.

"Right. And there are eighteen left. Gawain knows precisely where Severus is, and for the moment we know he doesn't need any assistance. Dumbledore has a direct link to him; if he needs help, he'll let them know. If you start meddling in this now, you could make the situation a lot worse. You keep out of it."

They had to admit that Mr. Weasley was right. The rest of the day was spent talking, trying to remember all the times when they should have guessed the truth and didn't. It made Harry feel terribly guilty, but it strengthened his resolve to do what he could to make amends.

xxxxxxxxxx

There was no food in the house. "You'd think he'd have the sense," Snape said snidely as if to himself, "to keep the place provisioned, but no, that's too mundane for our Macnair." He was sitting restrained in a chair in the front room that had a good view of the kitchen.

Macnair paused in his search through cupboards and cabinets to fire a stinging hex at Snape's shoulder. "Keep your trap shut," he snarled.

"That hurt," Snape snapped at him.

"That was the point," Macnair hissed back.

"You know," Snape said later over the tea that was their only breakfast, "you really need me now."

"Why?"

"Because you have to buy food, and you can't do it anywhere where there are wizards because by now your picture is plastered over every wall that has a blank space in wizarding Britain. You can only get food in muggle shops, and for that you need me."

"I can take what I need."

"Spoken like a true Death Eater who hasn't realized yet that he's a fugitive. Protective spells and little tie-me-up jinxes are one thing, but you start throwing around combat spells in a muggle community, and the Ministry is going to sit up and take notice. I repeat, you need me."

"What can you do that I can't?"

It was Snape's turn to smile. "There are some things half-bloods can do that purebloods can't."

"Name one!"

"Get muggle money."

A flicker, a heartbeat, and then Macnair was smiling, too. "I tell you what. You can finish your tea, and then I'm going to march your little half-muggle rear end down to where you can get us that money."

"You'd better be nice to this little half-muggle rear end because it's going to see you don't starve."

"I intend to be," said Macnair. "I intend to be."

A few minutes later they were out on the street, Macnair concealing the wand up his sleeve, ready to use if Snape bolted. Snape glanced around. They were indeed in Bloomsbury, in a street that was close to the British Museum on one side and led into Charing Cross Road on the other. "You idiot!" he spat at Macnair. "What are you doing putting a safe house here?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Wrong? We're just a few streets from the Leaky Cauldron. You believe in putting yourself right into the coals, don't you?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Macnair said. "I was a little rushed last evening."

"A little rushed." Snape savored his sarcasm. "We're going to both get captured again because you can't think clearly in a battle. How ever did you survive raids?"

"I never went on a raid," Macnair confessed. "I was in interrogation from the beginning. The Dark Lord appreciated my talents."

"And mine in potions," Snape retorted, leading the way away from Charing Cross Road. "But that never stopped me from keeping my head in a dangerous situation."

"Like yesterday when you let old Gawain get the drop on you, bring you down like a duck in hunting season, and I had to pull you out of the fire."

Snape glared at Macnair. "That was a fluke," he said.

They went to the area south of the British Museum where there were shops, and Snape found a bank machine. He drew a billfold from his pocket, and his bank card from the billfold. Macnair watched fascinated as the machine gave Snape a considerable amount of money. Not that Macnair knew what it was in galleons and sickles, but it looked like a lot.

"Now," said Snape, "let's get breakfast."

They found a little shop that served eggs and toast and… "Kipper," Snape ordered. "And coffee, please."

"Why don't we just go to a market and buy what we need?" Macnair asked, surveying the thoroughly mystifying menu.

"Because they aren't open yet," Snape replied, digging into his kipper with relish.

After a leisurely breakfast, Snape and Macnair left the coffee shop and headed in the direction of High Holborn. It was merely a matter of finding a place that sold groceries. It didn't matter if it was a little shop or a larger market. Early morning traffic was heavy, and Snape watched it carefully, for he had a plan.

'Walk' changed to 'Don't Walk.' Snape cried out "Quick! Pedestrian light," and darted into the street. Cars sped into the space behind him, and Macnair was left frustrated on the other side of the road. Snape stopped on his side and waited patiently until the pedestrian light changed to 'Walk' again and Macnair was able to cross.

"You've got to be quicker than that in London," Snape scolded.

"I thought you were bolting," Macnair gasped, breathing heavily more from surprise than from exertion.

"Why would I bolt," Snape asked, "just because you're paranoid? We have a job to do, and you're better able to get to the Lestranges than I am."

"Just admit it," Macnair said with his spooky, hollow laugh, "you're drawn to me."

"Maybe," said Snape, "but don't bet on it."

The two continued their search for a place to buy food, but it was soon clear that Macnair wasn't keeping as careful a watch on Snape as he had before. _Good,_ Snape thought. _Let him think he can trust me. It could be useful later on. It could mean the difference between life and death later on._

They found a market, and Snape flung away all his inhibitions as he selected meat, vegetables, spices, and herbs. Macnair could only stand and gape at the careful attention paid to French vintages and the texture of avocados. Snape and Macnair left the market laden with bags, bags that Snape insisted they put down a few houses later.

"You know," he told Macnair. "Nobody's going to notice a couple of tiny levitation spells. Little whispers of things that just happen to make these lighter to carry."

Macnair exercised all the finesse he could, which turned out to be considerable, and levitated each bag to an eighth of an inch above where it would be if it was toted. He and Snape returned to the safe house without having to endure the burden of heavy bags, though to the muggle world it looked as if they were weighted down with groceries.

It took a while to get things stored away, be sure the refrigerator was plugged in and the gas on for the stove. Snape next prepared a light lunch – black bean and avocado salad with a cilantro vinaigrette – and Macnair was won over. (Not that this was necessarily a good thing; there are people you do not want for your friends.) Then the two settled at the table with a pot of tea and began to plan.

It wasn't two minutes before Snape got up to search the place for paper and pencils and begin making lists. The lists weren't very helpful, but they did underline one important fact. Snape didn't have a clue where to go to look for the other Death Eaters except to Tiverton, Nutcombe's house, Bristol, the Keddles', and Glasgow. All of which, given what happened in Plymouth, might be under auror surveillance.

"And we can't use the floo network," Snape finished, throwing the pencil on the table, "because the entire network can be monitored by the Ministry. The Dark Lord knew what he was doing when he made the Ministry one of the first targets."

"The Dark Lord always did have a keen grasp of politics," said Macnair, his voice tinged with awe.

Snape didn't respond to the comment. Instead he asked, "Isn't there anyone you can contact to give us a lead to where Crabbe may have gone? Or the Lestranges? I seem to remember that you were pretty tight with Bella and Rodolphus in the before time."

"It wasn't social," Macnair said. "They called on me when they needed me, and I figured they were going higher than Malfoy. Going higher means falling farther, I found out, but it doesn't give the lower downs entrance to the homes of the higher ups. What about you? Weren't you pretty close to Nigel back in Birmingham?"

That wasn't good news to hear. "You knew everyone I talked to?" Snape asked bitterly.

Macnair waved it off. "I knew everything about everyone. I never knew when the Dark Lord would ask me to interrogate someone, and I had to have information on them that was immediately available. I know you and Nigel left headquarters together a couple of times and it had nothing to do with the Dark Lord's business."

"You know," Snape said. "That's not a bad idea. He might go there trying to contact me because it was the only non-wizarding place we ever met together. Macnair, have you ever been in a muggle pub?"

"No," Macnair replied.

"Okay, this is how you behave."

Around four o'clock that afternoon, Macnair apparated with Snape to a place a couple of streets away from and out of sight of their old Birmingham headquarters. The Dark Lord had been Secret Keeper, and it was almost certain that security there had been compromised and that it might be watched.

It didn't matter. The two men had another destination. Snape led Macnair through the busy streets of working class Birmingham to a little public house and entered without even checking for Ministry types. There would be no Ministry types. Wizards never came to places like this. With, as it turned out, three exceptions.

Over to one side, Nigel Yaxley was engaged in a game of skittles, and apparently doing rather badly. "You busy over there, Nigel?" Snape called, and Yaxley turned and raised a hand in greeting.

"It's m' mates. Thanks for the game," Yaxley said to the other men, then joined Snape and Macnair at a booth where Snape bought them each a pint of beer.

"Didn't know you had the money to come to a place like this," Snape said to Yaxley.

"I've kept a little aside," Yaxley admitted. "In case of emergencies. I will say I'm glad to see you. I wasn't sure you'd made it out. Last I saw, you were face to face with Gawain Robards."

"I've got Walden to thank for that. He pulled me out, but… You wouldn't happen to have a spare wand, would you?"

Yaxley's glance darted back and forth between Snape and Macnair, and then he began to chuckle. "Must've been a real pleasant night," was all he said.

Snape ignored the comment. "We need to locate the others. Avery, Rowle, and Goyle were lost, along with the entire Plymouth cell. Do you have any idea where Crabbe went?"

Yaxley shook his head. "Don't go to Nutcombe's place – they hit there, too. I tried to check out Tiverton, but it looked deserted and I was afraid there'd be aurors watching it. I stayed last night in the back of a shop around the corner from here, then thought this might be a place where you'd look for me. Lucky for me it was."

"I've got a place in London," said Macnair. "We went there. You're welcome to join us."

"Thanks," said Yaxley.

"I've got an idea," Snape said suddenly. "Walden, give me back my portrait."

This brought another chuckle from Yaxley. "You gave Walden your portrait? This is getting serious. Have you named a day?"

"Shut up!" Snape snapped at him, taking the little portrait and opening it to the empty frame. "Between you and Walden you're going to make me wish Robards had captured me." He spoke to the portrait. "Professor Dumbledore, I need you."

Yaxley's eyebrows shot up as Dumbledore's face entered the frame and said woodenly, "Yes, Headmaster, how may I assist you."

Snape looked at the other two. "Now we get to see if the secret is still in force. Professor, a supply secretary named Bellona Burke used to keep a little picture of Professor Nigellus on her desk in one of our headquarters. Could you ask him to try to go there, and then check the building out to see if the Ministry's been through it?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Dumbledore replied and disappeared.

"Wow," Yaxley whispered. "I'd love to be able to do that."

"Just keep your fingers crossed that the Board of Governors doesn't replace me soon."

Dumbledore reappeared a few minutes later. "Phineas was able to enter the building in Birmingham with no trouble, which means the secret is no longer intact. It does not look as if the Ministry is yet aware of the location, however. Nothing looks disturbed."

"Thank you, Professor," Snape said, closing the portrait and putting it into his pocket. Macnair made no objection to the movement. "Now," Snape continued, "if memory serves, there are some spare wands in Operations, for emergencies. I'm going into headquarters and get one."

"You want us to go with you?" Macnair asked.

"No," Snape said. "You stay here. We don't want all of us captured, just in case it is being watched."

It was an easy matter for Snape to stroll over to the former Death Eater headquarters, enter Operations, and check out the little supply of spare wands for one that was compatible with him. Less than twenty minutes later, he was back in the pub with Macnair and Yaxley. What he didn't tell them was that he carried two extra wands tucked into his jacket in addition to the one he showed them.

Two extra wands. Just in case.

The three wizards apparated back to Macnair's flat, Yaxley going side-along with Snape. Once there, Snape began fixing dinner. It was his old standby, beef Stroganov, which had the advantage of being quick and easy to prepare. Neither Macnair nor Yaxley complained, since they'd eaten and enjoyed it on Wednesday.

Unfortunately, Macnair wanted to watch Snape cook, and had a tendency to get a little out of control.

Snape had just finished sautéing the onions and mushrooms and was moving the frying pan to a trivet when the metal of the frying pan suddenly became very hot. Very hot indeed. Snape was between the stove and the trivet, and the nearest surface, the counter, would be damaged by the heat. He held on for several seconds and was able to deposit the frying pan on one of the burners of the stove. Then he turned on the cold water in the sink and drenched his hands in the cooling liquid, holding them there while anger mounted in him.

"That was you!" Snape screamed at Macnair. "What the hell was that for!"

"I wanted to see what you would do," Macnair explained simply. "You were in pain. You were in intense pain, but you were still thinking. You didn't want to drop the pan, and you also didn't want the pan to damage the counter. So you endured the pain until you could put the pan in a safe place. Now why can't other people do that? I think it's the muggle blood."

"Don't pretend this is scientific, you son of a witch! You wanted to hurt me!" Snape was shaking with anger. "And you were ready to ruin dinner to do it!"

Macnair threw his head back in what for Macnair passed as laughter. "That's why I love you so much. You want to kill me because of what I did to your hands, but you're still worried about the dinner. Merlin! How do you focus like that?"

Yaxley stuck his head into the kitchen, attracted by the noise. "If you're messing up my dinner, Walden, I'm going to take it out of your hide. You're not the only one with a wand anymore, you know."

"I was just experimenting with pain tolerance."

"Not with my dinner," said Yaxley, "or I'll start experimenting with your pain tolerance. There's two of us, you know. I'm sure Severus would join me."

Macnair's eyes shifted between the two of them. "All right," he said. "I'll back off." He went back out into the front room.

"Let me help with that," Yaxley said, taking one of Snape's hands and performing a quick, elementary healing spell, then doing the same with the other hand. "I hate to think what happened last night."

"Last night wasn't too bad," Snape confided. "I was injured in the fighting and he took care of me. I'm immensely pleased we found you today, though. That man is crazy."

Over dinner they planned the next step. Any floo contact was out since now it was a given that the whole network would be monitored. Private residences were out, too, as those would be known to the Ministry and watched. None of them knew any of the others well enough to have a rendezvous point like the pub in Birmingham for Snape and Yaxley.

"What about Croydon?" Yaxley asked.

"Croydon's blown," Snape said. "That's why we went to Birmingham."

Macnair's brow creased. "Blown?"

"Of course. Malfoy was Secret Keeper, and when he was caught and sent to… Azkaban…" Snape stopped. Intellectually he knew his sudden lightheadedness was nothing more than hyperventilation, but the feeling was uncomfortable. He looked at Macnair. "Wait a minute. You were sent to Azkaban at the same time. How could you possibly know what was going on at Birmingham?"

Across the table, Yaxley was wary, too. "What does he know that he shouldn't?" he asked.

"He was the one who remembered that you and I used to go out for a pint from time to time and gave me the idea to check the pub." Snape confronted Macnair. "How did you know?"

Macnair shrugged. "Greyback told me. I always pumped him for information. He isn't too bright, but he has that keen sense of smell and notices detail more than most. He wasn't interested in where you were going, he just knew that you went. Don't get upset, I asked him about everyone, not just about you." He drummed his fingers on the table. "You know," he said slowly, "Malfoy didn't tell the Ministry about Croydon. Nobody asked him. I don't think it ever occurred to them that he had a secret to keep."

"And he probably won't tell them now," Snape said. "We haven't been near Croydon for over two years. Malfoy's probably forgotten about it. The Tiverton people won't have the Secret, but the others will. I suggest we try Croydon in the morning. At least watch it for a while to see if anyone goes inside."

Then there was the argument over the sleeping arrangements.

"I don't want to disturb anything," Yaxley said. "I'm the newest. I'll just sleep out here on the sofa."

"No, no," Snape insisted. "Last night you had to sleep in the back of a shop. You take the cot. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"I should be out here," Yaxley countered. "I snore."

Macnair was chuckling. "Why don't you just move the cot into this room and both sleep here. That way neither one of you will bother me."

It was a wonderful idea, and all three slept well that night.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Sunday, June 14, 1998 (three days before the last quarter)_

Right after breakfast the next morning, Snape, Yaxley, and Macnair apparated to Croydon, each going to a different spot several streets away from headquarters and checking for surveillance as they moved toward the old warehouse.

Snape took advantage of the opportunity to contact Dumbledore. "We can talk," he told the portrait as he slipped into the doorway of a shop that would not open for business that day because it was Sunday.

"Where are you?" Dumbledore asked.

"The old headquarters, the one you guessed, but don't say the name. We're here to see if the others came here after Tiverton. It's the only way to make contact with them that we've been able to think of so far. Does Robards have any idea where the others are? It would help if I knew."

"No. They raided the place on the Bristol Channel, and Nutcombe is in custody, but the rest had left before they could move in on Tiverton. Let us hope they had the same idea you do."

"Professor," said Snape. "Malfoy is the Secret Keeper for this place. Do you think he might be persuaded to give the Secret to the aurors?"

"That is possible. His disenchantment with everything to do with Voldemort and the other Death Eaters is quite intense. He hates the Lestranges."

"I'm not surprised," said Snape. "They treated him pretty badly even before the Department of Mysteries fiasco, and this last year it was as if all they wanted to do was punish him. Now this is important. If Malfoy is willing to give the Secret, don't act without a signal from me. We still have to locate the Tiverton people, and since they don't have the Secret, we can't meet with them here. This place has to stay squeaky clean until after the cell has been arrested. Then they can move in here."

"Understood," said Dumbledore and disappeared.

Snape moved into a position where he could observe the entrance to the old headquarters and still not be noticed himself. He assumed Yaxley and Macnair had done the same. They waited in the Sunday silence until about nine-thirty, and then there was the 'pop' of someone apparating in. Snape looked to his right, where the sound came from, and was pleased to see that it was Travers. Snape didn't move.

Macnair moved, though. He and Travers were good friends, being of similar tastes and disposition. Stepping out of his own doorway hiding place, Macnair called out, "Archie! It's me, Walden!"

Travers's first reaction had been to spin, wand in hand, toward the sound, but he relaxed as soon as he realized it was Macnair. "Walden! Am I glad to see you! We were afraid they'd rounded up everyone. Are you alone? Who did they get."

"Come on out, Severus… Nigel," said Macnair, and the other two approached warily. "This is it," Macnair sighed. "We think Cecil got away, but we have no idea where he went. They picked up the whole cell, though, plus Ken, Geoff, and Thorfinn. Are Rabastan and the others inside?"

"Yeah, and they're pretty depressed about the whole thing. They got Nutcombe, too."

"Yeah, we heard."

"Look," Snape interjected, "do you think we could possibly get off the street? I don't know about you, but standing out here like a convention makes me nervous. Anyone could see us."

They agreed and moved toward the warehouse that only they could see. There was no bystander watching, but if there had been, he would have seen the four men suddenly vanish as they entered the old headquarters where the Secret was still intact.

Inside headquarters, the trio was greeted as if they were conquering heroes. "This is the best news we've had in thirty-six hours," Mulciber told Snape. "Rabs was certain you'd all been captured, and Dolph was starting to crack."

"Starting?" said Snape.

"You know what I mean."

An immediate war council was called, and all ten gathered in the old interview chamber which seemed small and shabby without the presence of the Dark Lord. The Carrows, Selwyn, and Travers conjured a large table and chairs.

"Well," said Snape in the ensuing silence. "I guess we can scrub Plan A."

"What was Plan A?" Rabastan asked.

"Lulling them into a false sense of security through a period of deceptive inactivity, remember."

"In hindsight," Selwyn mused, "that wasn't a bad plan. Pity."

"What happened to the cell?" Macnair asked.

"Dispersed to their homes. I have all their names. What we need is a way to contact them." Rabastan looked around at the circle of faces. "I'm open to suggestions."

"If only we had a way of getting hold of some owls," said Travers, "we'd be in business."

"There'll be posters up everywhere," Selwyn pointed out. "If we go anywhere where you can get an owl, we'll be recognized."

"What about that house-elf? Could he help?" asked Yaxley.

"He's Avery's elf," said Travers, "He won't work for us, but he might help us rescue Avery."

"Great idea!" said Snape. "Do any of you remember his name so that we can call him?"

No one did, and so that idea was shelved. Shelved by all except Snape, who did remember Jergy's name, and inwardly thanked Travers for the suggestion. One never knew when small things might become important.

"What about Polyjuice Potion?" Macnair asked. "Barty Crouch had considerable success with it for the better part of a year." All eyes turned to Snape.

"Takes too long," Snape said. "The fluxweed has to be harvested during a full moon, and the next one won't be until the ninth of July."

"Wasn't there some in your laboratory stores?" Yaxley asked.

"It has to be fresh," said Snape, and then the idea hit him. "Wait a minute. The laboratory here was cleaned out in ninety-six and everything transferred to Birmingham. But those supplies and that equipment are still there. We were in Birmingham yesterday. The Secret's destabilized, but it doesn't look as if any Ministry types have found it yet. We can transfer the supplies from the laboratory and the clinic back down here. That way we'll have potions capability without having to risk being seen in public."

The sense of relief felt by every member of the team at the thought that there was something that they could actually do was palpable. Even Rodolphus seemed to come alive at the prospect of action, however mundane that action was. The Lestranges and Mulciber had never been to Birmingham before, and apparated with Macnair, Selwyn, and Travers.

It was on their arrival in Birmingham that the group of Death Eaters was able to test the degree of destabilization of the Secret. Neither the Lestranges nor Mulciber could see the building. Taking a deep breath, Selwyn looked at Rabastan and spoke the address of the headquarters building. He was able to do so, and in that moment the three uninitiated Death Eaters saw the location.

"That's it," said Macnair. "We're all Secret Keepers for this place, at least those of us who had the Secret before the Dark Lord fell. Let's get those supplies and get out of here."

"Why don't we just stay here?" Amycus asked, not looking forward to the labor.

"Because if we're Secret Keepers, so is every person who ever worked here and is now under arrest by the Ministry," said Snape. "At least the Croydon base has only one Secret Keeper, and it's so old no one will think to ask him about it."

It wasn't so easy moving as they'd thought. There was a lot left in both clinic and laboratory, and they spent well into the afternoon ferrying it all from Birmingham to Croydon.

What pleased Snape the most were the supplies of already prepared Polyjuice Potion. While in Croydon and Birmingham, he'd worked long and hard on ways to alter the potion's potency. Some of the supply would keep a person transformed for an hour, but some of it only worked for forty-minutes. He had plans for this potion. Indeed he had.

Back in Croydon, Snape set everyone to sorting and shelving medical supplies and potions ingredients in his old laboratory.

"What's this?" Mulciber said, picking up a bottle of loathsome-looking gray sludge.

"Polyjuice Potion," Snape replied. He was rummaging through stacks of boxes looking for something. "But it's old, so I'm not sure how good it still is. Aha!" What he pulled out were boxes that on being opened were found to contain clothing, all neatly labeled. Each set of clothing had pinned to it a small plastic bag containing what appeared to be snippings of human hair.

Rodolphus read one of the labels. "Male, five foot eleven, one hundred seventy-five pounds, blond, gray eyes." He looked at Snape. "For the Polyjuice?" he asked.

Snape nodded. "We started to put it together more than a year ago. When you transform, your old clothes don't always fit. But we didn't want operatives to transform too soon, or the potion might wear off at an inconvenient time. So we have snippets of hair from muggles with certain physical characteristics. You chose one close to your own physical type and go already wearing clothes you know will fit. We never used it much because all of a sudden Dumbledore… well, you know… and then we didn't need it."

"So it's never been tested," said Rodolphus doubtfully.

"Oh, it's been tested. Just never used in the field," said Snape, and then he lied. "It was Bella's idea."

A fierce pride came into Rodolphus's eyes. "She was a remarkable woman," he whispered.

"She certainly was," said Snape, knowing that Rodolphus was now hooked. "There's one big problem, though. The potion is over a year old. I don't know if it's still good. If we waste time testing it, we won't have time to get all our owls today."

"Of course we will," said Alecto. "It's three hours before shops close."

"We can't have ten people hit Eeylops all at once looking for replacement owls," Snape pointed out. "We have to stagger our visits so it doesn't look too suspicious. I think I should go first because if there is a problem with the potion, I'll be best able to adjust to it."

"I'll go with you," said Macnair.

They chose clothing and hair from the available stock, and Snape mixed the hair into the Polyjuice doses. "Now don't break this, and be sure you don't drink it too soon. You don't want to change back into yourself in the middle of Diagon Alley."

They apparated a distance away from the Leaky Cauldron and spent considerable time finding a private place to transform. Macnair stood lookout while Snape drank his Polyjuice, then Snape did the same for Macnair. They became two blond young men in their twenties, clearly brothers, but not twins. Going through the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley was easy.

"You go to Eeylops and check out owls," Snape told Macnair. "I need a few things at the apothecary's, and then I'll join you."

Away from Macnair, Snape pulled out the portrait and quickly explained to Dumbledore what was happening. "Have Robards be sure there are aurors here in about two hours," he said. "They may have to wait for an hour or so, but sometime this evening someone's going to have a problem with their Polyjuice."

Snape rejoined Macnair at Eeylops. Macnair had picked out a couple of very ordinary-looking owls, and they paid for them and left with the cages. Despite Snape's insistence that they leave well before their time was up, Macnair just had to check a couple of things in Knockturn Alley. By the time Snape could pry Macnair away, he was getting seriously worried about the time, and then they had trouble finding a quiet nook from which to disapparate. They arrived back in Croydon with only minutes to spare and were soon themselves again.

Even thought he pretended to be angry with Macnair for cutting things so close, Snape was secretly happy because the potential for carelessness played right into his hands. The next to go out were the Lestranges to Diagon Alley, and Selwyn and Travers to a place Travers knew of in York.

The Lestranges, too, cut their return dangerously close, having been as magnetically drawn to Knockturn Alley as Macnair. The last group to go was Yaxley to Canterbury, Mulciber to Norwich, and the Carrows to Diagon Alley.

"Now remember," Snape warned, "don't take the potion too soon, and be careful of the time." He particularly stressed this to the Carrows, knowing they would have trouble obeying since he'd given them the forty-five minute potion.

More than an hour later, Yaxley and Mulciber returned, Yaxley first and Mulciber five minutes after him. Both transformed back into themselves almost immediately, having pushed their time to the limit just like everyone else. The team in Croydon waited, but the Carrows did not come back. Rabastan wanted to go look for them, but Snape pointed out that he was the only one who could give orders to the Tiverton cell, so Macnair went instead. He returned with bad news.

"Amycus and Alecto transformed right in the middle of Diagon Alley. They've been arrested. The whole alley is talking about it."

Interestingly, it was Macnair who came closest to panicking

"We have to get out of here. This place isn't safe anymore," he insisted as the others helped Snape prepare dinner in the old cafeteria, more of a canteen actually, and nowhere near as nice as the one in Birmingham.

"Don't be silly," Snape replied, with Rabastan backing him up. "The Carrows can't tell anyone about this place. They can't even volunteer information that it exists."

"Malfoy can."

"And who's going to tell anyone about Malfoy? Alecto and Amycus can't. Not unless someone asks them pointblank if Malfoy's the Secret Keeper at Croydon. And why would they do that since they know nothing about Croydon. Try to control yourself."

They now had eight owls, and that evening they sent them out to all the members of the cell they'd met at Tiverton. The owls returned before the eight Death Eaters retired for the night, each bringing a confirmation of a meeting the following day.

The Croydon headquarters were large and full of a variety of rooms. They spread out for the night, each in a place of his own choosing. Snape chose to sleep in his old laboratory. It held a lot of memories, some of them even pleasant.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Monday, June 15, 1998 (two days before the last quarter)_

Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, visited the Weasleys near noon on Monday, joining them for lunch. He brought a combination of good and bad news.

"The Carrows are back in custody. They actually had the temerity to go shopping in Diagon Alley under the disguise of Polyjuice potion and misjudged the time. By great good fortune, Robards had aurors in the area, and they were picked up at once. They've told us how they escaped from the boat taking them to Azkaban, and of a flat in Glasgow and a couple in Norfolk who were forced to help them. We're interviewing the Keddles now, but it seems they were coerced. When we add that to the information we got after the capture of Avery, Goyle, and Rowle on Friday, we have a pretty good idea of what we're dealing with."

Mr. Weasley looked at the clock. All its hands pointed to 'home.' "If Crabbe and the Lestranges are still at liberty," he asked, "why aren't we in deadly peril?"

"I don't know," Shacklebolt answered, "except that the Carrows tell us they were buying owls in order to communicate with the remnants of a Death Eater cell in Devonshire. My guess is that no plans have been formulated yet, so there's no immediate danger. We're keeping up surveillance around the house until the rest of the escapees have been rounded up. We don't want to take any chances."

There was a awkward pause, a pause broken by Mrs. Weasley. "We know," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" said Shacklebolt.

"We know about Professor Snape," said Mrs. Weasley. "Is he all right?"

Shacklebolt didn't even try to hide his irritation as he glared angrily at Harry. "I'm sorry to hear about this breach of security," he said. "Every additional person who shares this information places Severus's life in more danger. I must ask you all to stay here at the Burrow and not contact anyone else. This must remain confidential."

"But is he all right?" Mrs. Weasley insisted.

With a sigh, Shacklebolt reassured her. "It was Severus who passed us word to have aurors in Diagon Alley waiting for a Polyjuice accident. He arranged the arrest of the Carrows."

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Then it's true," she said to Harry.

"You thought I was lying to you?" Harry blurted out. "About Snape?"

"That's my fault," Hermione admitted. "I was worried you might have been Imperiused because you didn't want to go after him."

"This is lunacy," said Shacklebolt, shaking his head. "Is there anyone else who knows besides the people in this room?"

The Weasleys all looked at each other, and at Harry and Hermione. "Lunacy…" Harry murmured and then paled. "Luna was here on Saturday."

"Who's Luna?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Luna Lovegood. She lives here in Ottery St. Catchpole, too."

"You're not talking about Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter? The man who publishes _The Quibbler?"_ Shacklebolt was on his feet, lunch forgotten, headed for the door. _"The Quibbler_ is biweekly," he said as he left to disapparate at once. "Today's the fifteenth. It comes out today." Then he was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

At about the same time that Shacklebolt was apparating to the Lovegood residence (Harry Potter incidentally right behind him), the Death Eaters at Croydon were preparing to go to Devonshire. The meeting with what was left of Avery's cell was to take place in a flat in Exmouth, a little to the south and west of Ottery St. Catchpole. Rather than a series of side-along apparations, they chose to go by portkey, using a pillow from the room the Lestranges had slept in.

They were met by two members of the cell, and escorted through the town center, following them at spaced intervals, walking individually or in twos because nine men in a group together might be remarked on. Snape, Macnair, and Yaxley were the least noticeable in their ordinary muggle clothes, and Snape had used the Polyjuice outfits, managing to remove the more garish of the things the others selected, so that in a summer resort town they all blended in reasonably well.

The meeting place was in the upper floor of a brick building above some craft shops. The seven men of the cell seemed quiet and distrustful, an attitude probably caused by the news that Avery and the others had been arrested. As soon as they arrived, the two escorts asked to speak to Rabastan privately. Everyone else waited in awkward silence.

Then Rabastan was in the doorway of the meeting room. "Al, Walden, Archie… can I see you for a moment?" The three stood and left the room with Rabastan. Snape glanced at Yaxley, who shrugged. Rodolphus and Selwyn seemed equally puzzled.

A few minutes later, Mulciber stuck his head in the door. "We need you for a minute, Severus," he said. "Something's come up."

Snape rose and followed Mulciber down a narrow corridor where he entered a smaller room and found himself in a circle of drawn wands. He froze at once, forcing himself to stay absolutely still as adrenaline pumped into his system. Mulciber expertly removed the wand Snape kept up his right sleeve.

"Have we had a change in plans?" Snape asked quietly.

"Maybe," Rabastan answered. "Sit down."

Snape sat, and Rabastan placed a copy of _The Quibbler_ in his hands. "Page three," Mulciber said. Mulciber sat on the edge of a table watching Snape's face while Rabastan, Macnair, and Travers stood around, wands still ready. The two escorts from the cell waited by the window, arms folded on their chests.

Page three contained a continuation of page one's main article on the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, a highly colored account of the battle at Hogwarts, advertisements for wizard shops in the southwest of England, and a small article in the lower left-hand corner that said:

_Wizard Hero in Peril Once More_

_Our editor recently learned that an unsung hero of the wizarding_

_world is again endangering his life to aid the Chosen One in _

_rounding up the remnants of You-Know-Who's defeated army. _

_Intelligence provided by Harry Potter himself informs us that _

_Severus Snape, whose assistance was instrumental in the _

_downfall of the wizard known as the Dark Lord, may even now _

_be in grave danger as he labors on our behalf. We ask our _

_readers to keep him in your thoughts and to pray for his safe return._

"Wonderful," said Snape. "Something else I can thank Harry Potter for."

"Can you explain it?" Rabastan asked.

Snape looked up at him, a bitter, sarcastic smile flitting across his features. "Can't you?"

"You tell me."

"He wants me dead. He's hoping you'll do the job for him."

"That's what Walden and Archie think. They may be right, but we're not taking any chances. You stay here during the meeting. Al will keep you company." They bound Snape's arms and legs to the chair with magical cords. "No hard feelings?" Rabastan said as he, Macnair, and Travers left the room with the two cell escorts.

Mulciber was quiet for a few minutes, as if listening for the sound of voices from down the corridor, a sound that didn't reach them. Then he leaned forward. "Your luck just doesn't change, does it? Can you think of any other person in the whole world who has both Walden Macnair and Harry Potter after them? I can't."

"I love the way you're trying to cheer me up."

"Well, you always were everybody's favorite punching bag. From day one there was that indefinable touch of _je ne sais quoi_ about you that screamed 'beat me up.' You're also the only person I can think of who had both Slytherin and Gryffindor out to get him. It's a good thing you knew how to fight back."

"This conversation is doing wonders for my morale," Snape said acidly. "I don't recall you ever taking me on, though."

"I didn't have to. I just egged on Aaron, Evan, and Ken, then sat back to watch."

Mulciber was playing with his wand, twirling it like a drum majorette's baton. "I must confess," he told Snape, "I don't exactly agree with Walden or Archie. I don't think this is a Potter plot at all. I think old Xenophilius found out something and actually thinks he's helping you by asking everyone to pray for you."

"You think I'm working against you?"

"Why not? I keep thinking of all those things we used to do to you that you could get revenge for now. Revenge against Ken and Rabs, against Dolph and me. Face it, Sev, it's a heaven-sent opportunity."

"Only assuming your initial premise is correct." Snape's arm jerked involuntarily as the tip of Mulciber's wand touched the skin on the back of his hand, but the cords bound him too tightly to permit real movement.

"I remember," Mulciber mused, tracing a figure eight on Snape's wrist, "how you destroyed my first year marks with those little forgetfulness potions of yours. My dad was going to get me a new broom if I did well on my exams, especially Dark Arts. I had to turn in a blank piece of paper."

"It was intended for the Lestranges, Wilkes, and Rosier. I can't help it if they gave you some."

"That doesn't change the fact that you cost me that broom."

"So that's the origin of your revenge theory."

The door opened then, and the other six came into the room. Mulciber put away his wand at once. Selwyn and Yaxley looked embarrassed. Rabastan cut right to the heart of the matter. "We have to decide now, guilty or not guilty."

"Guilty," said Mulciber. "We can't take any chances."

"Guilty," echoed Rodolphus. "We know he's been against us ever since school. It's why he backed Malfoy against Bella."

Rabastan added his voice. "Guilty." He looked over at the other four.

"I don't know," said Yaxley. "I got to know him pretty well in Birmingham, and he never said anything against any of you or against Bella. Or against Malfoy. Just kept to himself. Doesn't seem the type to suddenly risk his life to get you."

"He did get us off that boat to Azkaban," added Macnair. "When that old guy got too close and Severus clobbered him, he could have left us chained there to drown. He didn't."

"He wanted your help finding us," said Rodolphus.

"We didn't go looking for you," Macnair pointed out. "You're the ones who found us. And you weren't at Hogwarts. They were going to kill him."

"It was a battle," said Rabastan with a shrug. "That's what happens in battles."

"No, this was after the battle. They decided not to let the crowd hang him, but they beat the…"

"How come he doesn't have any marks?"

"He did. I saw them. They took care of that with the healers in the Ministry because they didn't want any judge asking questions." Macnair grinned. "They were beautiful, though. A work of art."

Travers spoke up then. "Besides, Potter would never trust Lovegood with anything."

"He's friends with the daughter. Why wouldn't he trust the father?"

"Back last Christmas, Potter went to Lovegood for help. We had the girl, so the father stalled Potter and his friends and came looking for backup. Daniel and me," Travers nodded to Selwyn, "we were closest. Potter Obliviated the father just before they apparated out, but we got a good look at them. They'd never have gone back to him with anything. Not to old Lovegood. That article in _The Quibbler_, it's worth about as much as any other article in _The Quibbler_."

It was, by anyone's reckoning, a four to three vote. Rabastan still wasn't convinced. Then he had an idea and searched through Snape's pockets, pulling out the portrait of Dumbledore. "Let's see how much good Sev can do for us," he leered. Opening the portrait, he spoke to the empty frame. "Hey! Stumblemore! We've got your headmaster. Get your self over here, or you're going to need a new headmaster!"

The portrait did not respond. "He can't come until you say his name," said Snape.

"I did."

"No you didn't. If it was really him, he'd know you were being sarcastic and insulting. This is just a portrait. It doesn't understand jokes and sarcasm."

"Professor Dumbledore," said Rabastan. "If you want to help your headmaster, you'd better come out now."

The portrait appeared in the empty frame. "I must speak with the headmaster," it said.

Rabastan held the portrait up so that it could see where Snape sat, flanked by Rodolphus and Mulciber. "Good day, Professor," Snape said. "I'd like you to obey this wizard, please."

Without further ceremony, Rabastan pulled the portrait back and glared down into it. "Do you have a portrait in the home of Xenophilius Lovegood?" he demanded.

"I do," the portrait replied.

"Go there and report back to me what's happening."

"Yes, sir." Dumbledore was gone.

From his base in Xenophilius Lovegood's study, Dumbledore flitted down to the dining room where there hung a picture of two alien-looking figures with blue skin and antennae twitching on their heads. The caption said they were Andorians, which Dumbledore considered odd as he'd been to Andorra, and the people there were not blue. There were four wizards also in the room, or rather three wizards and a witch – Xenophilius himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry Potter, and Luna Lovegood.

"Oh Harry," Luna was saying, "that's just being silly. If it was a secret, why would you tell me? I only went over to visit Ginny, and you never said it was a secret. I thought it was romantic. All that time he's been in mourning…"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"Wearing black, of course. For her. Do you remember saying it was a secret?"

"No, I thought it was understood."

"Of course," said Luna, smiling sweetly.

"Kingsley," portrait Dumbledore said, and all eyes turned to him. "They have seen _The Quibbler_. There is a copy of it in the room, and I assume it is incriminating. Severus is bound to a chair, but there seems to be difference of opinion as to what _The Quibbler_ article means. Rabastan Lestrange has my portrait, and is currently giving orders. He wants to know what is happening here."

"May I use your floo?" Shacklebolt asked Mr. Lovegood, who nodded. Shacklebolt then stepped to the fireplace, threw a handful of green powder in, and said, "Gawain Robards." When Robards appeared, Shacklebolt asked, "Is it secure?"

"I'm alone," Robards replied. "They've just left Exmouth."

"Left?" exclaimed Dumbledore from the wall. "Where did they go?"

"Macnair's returned to London. Snape's in Scotland, near Fort William. Drat! Macnair's just apparated back to Exmouth! Hold on. I have to find out what's happening." Robards left the floo connection.

"I have to get back to Rabastan Lestrange," said Dumbledore. "I shall tell him that you are plotting the downfall of Snape at the hands of his own colleagues by publishing false information about him in _The Quibbler_." Then Dumbledore, too, was gone.

It was fifteen minutes before Robards was with them again. "That's torn it," he said. "They didn't go right back to their hiding place. It seems they wanted to cover their tracks by moving through muggle dominated areas. They ran into one of our patrols in Victoria Station, were recognized, and two of them immobilized immediately. We've got Selwyn and Travers. Macnair was spotted just as he disapparated. We don't know who else may have been there."

"That ties in with my information," said Dumbledore from the picture of blue people. "I was reporting to Rabastan when Walden and Nigel showed up. They were quite shaken about their sudden encounter with aurors. They followed the Lestranges up to Fort William, and are leaving immediately for somewhere else."

"Inverness," Robards told them, having just checked the trace.

"It is interesting," added Dumbledore, "that Walden and Nigel seemed upset at finding that the others had not gone directly to London. They feel, apparently, that Rabastan was trying to take Severus somewhere where they would be unable to locate him. I am getting a trifle worried. Though dissension in their ranks can also be a very useful thing."

"I just hope Professor Snape gets out of this all right," said Harry miserably.

xxxxxxxxxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 6**

In Inverness, or rather in a cottage on the southern shore of Loch Ness, Snape was once again sitting in a chair in front of a table while an argument raged around him. This time his strategy was quite simple – keep his mouth shut and let Macnair and Yaxley do the talking.

"How could he have known?" Macnair shouted at Rabastan. "How could he have known when we didn't know ourselves what route we were taking until we got to the apparating point? That's the first time we even thought about Victoria Station. No one knew! It was just bad luck!"

"Why are you protecting him? He's a traitor! He's been a traitor for years!"

Macnair went suddenly quiet. "Why do you say that? The Dark Lord didn't think so."

"He's been in Dumbledore's pocket for more than sixteen years!"

"Rabs," said Mulciber gently. "Dumbledore's dead, remember? Sev killed him."

"No! He's got that picture! It went to Lovegood's to inform on us!"

Mulciber's eyes flicked to Macnair's face and back. "Sev didn't tell the portrait to go to Lovegood's, Rabs. You did."

"Besides," Macnair added, "I worked for the Ministry for thirteen years. Yaxley was at St. Mungo's. We all needed to survive. At least Severus was where the Dark Lord told him to be."

"How do you know that!" Rodolphus was beside himself, worse than Rabastan. "Because sly Snapey told you? And you believed him?"

"I'd like the answer to that question, too," Mulciber said. "I really would."

"The Dark Lord told us," Macnair sighed. "The day he came back and summoned us all. We were all interrogated. Severus came late because he couldn't leave Hogwarts at once without arousing suspicion. We were all present for his interrogation. He'd stayed where he'd been ordered to stay. The Dark Lord said so." Behind Macnair, Yaxley nodded.

"Snape was lying!" Rodolphus shrieked.

"Lying to the Dark Lord?" Yaxley stepped forward. "I don't think so."

"I handled the interrogation," chimed in Macnair. "Do you want a demonstration of what I used? Just for you? We were there, Nigel and me. I can't help it if the three of you were in Azkaban at the time. We were there, and we know what happened."

Rodolphus's wand was in his hand. "We've lost Travers and Selwyn because of him. That makes the vote three to two." He whirled on Snape, wand pointed at Snape's head, but before he could say another word, or even think a spell, Rodolphus was hit with a bolt of red and fell heavily to the floor.

"You forgot to take a recount," said Mulciber calmly, now pointing his wand at Rabastan. "I think I'd like a recount." He didn't take his eyes off Rabastan as he added. "Walden, Nigel, untie Sev. I'd feel safer if this was four to two. Rabs has Sev's wand."

Macnair and Yaxley quickly did as they were told, and soon Rabastan and the still groggy Rodolphus were seated, bound and wandless as Snape had been.

"Okay," said Yaxley after they'd secured the Lestranges and settled themselves on more comfortable sofas and armchairs. "Now what do we do?"

The four of them looked around at each other, and then Snape spoke. "Neither Al nor I was at the meeting in Exmouth. What happened?"

"Nothing much," said Macnair. "They've been assigned to spy on the Weasleys. Four of them will watch during the day, and three at night."

"How do they report?"

"There's a drop point in Exmouth." Macnair shrugged. "They figured floo was out of the question, owls and patronuses can be seen – besides, not everyone can produce a patronus, and too frequent meetings were dangerous. The first report is due Tuesday morning."

"So Rabastan doesn't have to be the one in contact with them. It's going to be done by messages for a while."

"That's right."

"Then if I may make a suggestion?" Everyone nodded, and Snape continued. "We seem to be safe here for the moment. I suggest we get something to eat, and make ourselves comfortable for the evening. It's been a long, eventful day, and we have all day tomorrow to plan. Better to do that when we're refreshed and," he indicated the Lestrange brothers, "a bit calmer."

"So," Macnair said to Snape, "are you going shopping, or what?"

"Me? Why me? I'm the absolute worst one for that job right here and now."

"You went shopping in London."

"Of course. In an area of London where almost no witches live and where all wizardly attention would be directed at Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron several streets south. Who goes to High Holborn for magic? But Inverness is a different matter. It's smaller, quieter, strangers more noticeable, and has a relative large wizarding community. I can't go anywhere like that."

"You went to Exmouth."

"Two minutes on the street of a muggle resort town at the beginning of the summer season. What are the odds? Shopping in Inverness is different. It's a simple matter of mathematics."

"Since when has math…"

"Look, Walden, there are what? about three thousand witches and wizards in Britain? I was teaching for sixteen years and headmaster for the seventeenth. Every year we got forty new students, all of whom were in my classes, so counting the ones already there when I started plus the ones who knew me when I was a student… More than one-third of wizarding Britain is intimately acquainted with my face, and a lot of them live in Inverness. I suggest one of you southerners does the shopping. You're less likely to be spotted."

Not one of the others could come up with a counter argument. A careful evaluation was then done, and it was decided that in any case Mulciber and Yaxley had the least remarkable faces, and so they were picked to go shopping.

Snape then spent a frustrating half hour trying to teach Mulciber the decimal system, at which point Yaxley reminded him that he, Yaxley, was already familiar with pubs and muggle money. They were sent off with several five-pound notes, a pocketful of coins, a shopping list, and a dire warning not to get into any trouble.

The cottage had a tiny kitchen, and Snape went in to check things out while Macnair stood in the doorway where he could talk and keep an eye on the Lestranges at the same time. "I have fond memories of that interrogation," he said, by way of making conversation.

"I don't," Snape replied, noting that he had most of what he needed to cook with, but that there weren't enough plates for six.

"How did you manage to get back up the hill to the castle after that punishment?"

"There are advantages to having two masters. I told the Dark Lord who decided the timing of my answering the summons."

"Yeah. Dumbledore."

"He was waiting when I got back. Hogwarts has a clinic. Do you know that the fact the Dark Lord worked me over made Dumbledore trust me more?" Snape started placing pots and pans on the stove. "The fool," he said after a moment. Then, "Are the electricity and gas working?"

"Who cares?" said Macnair, pulling out his wand.

"Only every Ministry lackey looking out for unusual magical activity in otherwise remote spots," Snape retorted. "Go ahead. Light a magical fire."

"I keep forgetting," Macnair admitted.

"That's why you have me."

It turned out there was no gas, only an electric line. Mulciber and Yaxley returned then with the food, and Snape started cooking a _pot au feu_, something he would have been able to do with a wood fire and a Dutch oven if necessary.

The others made toast and tea to tide them over while supper cooked, and they even released Rabastan and Rodolphus from their bonds so they could partake as well. Rabastan was, in fact, notably calmer after Mulciber and Yaxley got back safely, and even helped keep Rodolphus in line.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to the group in general. "We've just lost so many in such a short time – Avery, Rowle, Goyle, Crabbe, the Carrows… then Selwyn and Travers right after seeing that _Quibbler_ article. I guess I lost my head."

"Better you than me," said Snape, but it was a minute and more before Rabastan realized it was meant as a joke.

Dinner was well received, and a bottle of Scotch pronounced almost as good as firewhisky. Then the six Death Eaters spread out through the sitting room and tiny bedroom on whatever they could find to make the floor more comfortable, the two little sofas going to the Lestranges while their cushions went to the others.

Each slept with his wand at hand, none of them any longer completely trusting the others.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Tuesday, June 16, 1998 (one day before the last quarter)_

The following day was bright and cheerful outside, with sunlight glinting on the Loch, and the occasional tourist bus roaring by as its passengers craned their necks for a glimpse of 'Nessie.' Inside was not quite as calm.

"Will you stop pacing," Macnair snapped at Rabastan. "This place is cramped enough as it is, and you're hogging the entire center of the floor. Besides, you put my teeth on edge."

Rabastan paused in his restless movement. "I make Walden Macnair nervous. That's a good one." He picked up a cup, put it down, then a spoon, a plate… "I want to know what's happening."

"You told them not to communicate until Wednesday. It's your own fault." Mulciber was rummaging through every cupboard and drawer in the cottage, looking for something to keep him occupied.

"I need information," Rabastan insisted. "Severus, send the professor somewhere. Find out what's going on."

"I don't think that would be wise," Snape replied. He sat easily in one of the armchairs, left ankle on right knee, hands folded over stomach, watching.

Rodolphus snorted in contempt. "Sev thinks you're stupid, Rabs. Stupid for wanting to get something done."

"Where would I send him?" Snape asked. "Have you thought about that?"

"The Ministry? The Weasleys' home? Hogwarts? I'm sure with your brain, you could think of something." Rodolphus's anger simmered near the surface.

"There have never been many portraits of Dumbledore in the Ministry," said Snape. "None since last year. And what would happen if the aurors or the Weasleys or the professors at Hogwarts noticed that Dumbledore was moving through the paintings? They know the only person who can send him out is me. They'd know I was watching… planning. Talk about rousing suspicions."

"What I want to know," Mulciber said, settling at the table with a newly discovered pad of paper and a pencil, "is are we planning a murder or a kidnapping?"

"We're planning revenge," Rodolphus replied coldly.

"But does revenge take the form of a murder, or a kidnapping, some fun and games, and then a murder? Revenge isn't purely an intellectual exercise, you know."

"Al has a point," chimed in Macnair. "You can't ad lib something like this. What are we aiming for in practical terms? Who exactly are the cell members watching? And don't just say 'the Weasleys' because right now there are more of them than of us."

Rabastan took one of the straight-backed chairs, turned it, and sat back to front, leaning his arms on the wooden back. "Molly first. They have to watch all of her movements. Then the daughter. Those are our main targets. Third is the youngest boy since he's Potter's good friend."

"Aren't they watching Potter, too?" Snape asked.

"We've only got seven people. They can't be in two places at once."

"Isn't Potter staying with the Weasleys? He usually does."

Rodolphus stormed over to Snape's chair, glowering down on him. "Why didn't you speak up at the last meeting! Why didn't you mention this?"

"I seem to recall being tied up in another room at the time. You can't eat your cake and have it, too, Dolph. You know that."

Mulciber was doodling on the paper, spirals, spiders, bats, and snakes. "I say kidnapping. I say we pick up both women if we can, then finish the girl while Molly watches, then kill Molly and tell Potter where to find the bodies."

"And after that?" Snape asked. "What were you planning to do after that? I know it's a minor point, but suddenly I'm curious."

"After that we're finished," said Rodolphus. "Our mission is accomplished."

"I see." Snape examined the fingernails on his right hand. "So then you were planning on going into partnership with Borgin? Or Macnair back to 'Magical Creatures' in the Ministry? We also need a plan for getting away. Or hadn't you intended to get away?"

In the silence that followed, Yaxley mused, "I've always wanted to go to South America. I hear Rio is nice. Or Buenos Aires. I know. Tahiti!"

That at least got the attention of the whole group, who now occupied an hour and a half discussing the places they'd been. Snape had the dullest life as he'd never been outside Great Britain except for a couple of times just across the Channel and to the Northern Islands. Yaxley had at least been to Ireland and the Isle of Man.

"How do you know about Buenos Aires, then," Snape asked. "Or Rio? Or Tahiti?"

"Quidditch," Yaxley replied. "There's the B.A. Boleadoras, the Amazon Anacondas, the Tahiti Typhoons…"

"I'm sorry I asked," Snape said.

Rabastan and Rodolphus, coming from a moneyed family, had toured extensively and were keen to get to the Caribbean. Mulciber was also fairly well traveled, and thought he might try Thailand. The one who'd truly been all over the world, however, was Macnair, as part of his job dealing with Magical Creatures for the Ministry. "Deathmatch wrestling," he sighed. "Barbed wire rings… I'll take Japan."

Snape was incredulous. "You're content to be just a spectator?"

"Nah. I'd make it a career. Think what I could do as a ring manager. Dragon deathmatch!"

"You really know how to lie low and blend into the background, don't you?"

Mulciber was finally able to steer them back to the matter at hand. "Where do we take the prisoners once we've got them?" he insisted, after Macnair had totally destroyed all desire to talk about visiting faraway, exotic places by describing exactly what a piranha deathmatch was.

"Bella would have known," Rodolphus sighed. "She knew everything. She knew the Dark Lord's greatest secrets and all his hiding places."

"Hiding places?" Snape prompted.

"Well, there was Malfoy's place, and the vault at Gringotts…"

"Wait a minute," said Snape, "did Bella tell you all the hiding places?"

"She had a tendency to get talkative in moments of pass…" Rodolphus glared at Snape. "Bella was the most devoted, trustworthy servant the Dark Lord had," he growled, starting to rise from his chair. "Don't you dare impugn my wife's loyalty to the Dark Lord."

"It would never occur to me," Snape replied. "but if she did confide some of her knowledge to you, it might come in handy now."

The others agreed, and Rodolphus, after some thought, provided them with a list. It wasn't very useful.

"Gringotts, Hogwarts, the Malfoy manor, and Little Hangleton are out," Mulciber sighed. "And the snake wasn't a place to begin with. That leaves the cave. Do you have any idea where the cave is?"

"Not really," Rodolphus sighed. "She'd never been there. By the sea, I think."

"What would the Dark Lord have to hide in these places?" asked Macnair.

"Things," said Rodolphus. "Things that would make him immortal. That's why Bella went after the Longbottom's when he left us the first time. She knew he couldn't be truly dead, and she thought maybe the aurors knew where he was."

Snape was thinking fast. That fateful night that ended on the Astronomy tower, Dumbledore had been going after a Horcrux. The diary and the ring were already accounted for. If Rodolphus was right about all the others, Dumbledore wouldn't have been going to Gringotts, he wouldn't have had to leave the grounds for the one at Hogwarts, and he couldn't have gotten near Nagini. It left only this cave by the sea. And Dumbledore had gone there with Potter. Potter could take aurors to this cave that was far from muggles and wizards, where prisoners could be rescued and Death Eaters captured, if they hadn't been captured yet…

"This cave sounds like an excellent idea," Snape said. "Pity we don't know where it is. Dumbledore might, though."

They all turned to stare at him. "Why would old graybeard know about the Dark Lord's secret hiding places?" Rabastan asked menacingly. "What have you been hiding from us? From the Dark Lord?"

"Nothing. I didn't even think of the connection until now, but if Rodolphus is right about the hiding places, then a lot of things I didn't understand before are starting to become clearer. Do you remember a year ago when the Dark Lord got so angry at Lucius, except Lucius was already in Azkaban? Dumbledore did something then that puzzled me at the time, but now I think I can make sense of it."

The group of Death Eaters listened as Snape told them of Dumbledore's finding of the ring Horcrux and of the injury to Dumbledore's hand, though he refrained from using the word Horcrux, or from mentioning that the injury would ultimately have proven fatal. "And then that night, the night I killed him, he'd just come back from some other place, and something had happened to him. He seemed weak."

"That's right." Yaxley added. "He was slumped against the parapet like he didn't have the strength to stand up. And he got there on a broom from outside. He couldn't have been there when Gibbon sent up the Dark Mark."

"What Rodolphus just told us," Snape said, "makes me think that Dumbledore was looking for these hiding places, maybe to destroy what was in them…"

"Maybe they're still there!" Rodolphus cried. "Maybe we can bring the Dark Lord back again!"

Snape looked down at his hands, Yaxley out a window, and Macnair at the ceiling, rolling his eyes in disgust. Rabastan and Mulciber looked puzzled but hopeful, then Mulciber, too, shook his head and sighed. "This isn't like last time, Dolph. If part of him was still here, the marks would have some life in them. Like last time. They don't. They're dead. He's dead. Between them, Dumbledore and Potter must have found everything."

Reaching into his pocket, Snape pulled out the portrait, and opened it. "Professor Dumbledore," he said. "I want you to join this meeting."

The wooden, expressionless face was there instantly. "How may I assist you, Headmaster?"

"Two years ago, you were hunting for certain… things that belonged to the Dark Lord, things meant to keep him alive…"

"Ah, yes. A Horcrux is an enchanted item intended to enclose a fragment of a human soul. The purpose of the Horcrux is to anchor the life of the maker to earth so that…"

"We don't need a lesson, Professor."

The portrait was immediately silent. Rabastan then asked the question they all wanted to know. "Were all of these things destroyed?"

"Yes. Harry Potter destroyed the diary in the Chamber of Secrets before we realized what it was. I destroyed the ring at the home of Riddle's mother…"

"Riddle?" said Rabastan. "Who's Riddle?"

"It was Lord Voldemort's original name," said the portrait. "Tom Riddle."

Rodolphus grabbed the portrait from the table. "You be respectful when you speak of the Dark Lord or…" He didn't finish for Snape's wand was at his throat.

His voice smooth and quiet, Snape said, "Rodolphus Lestrange, if you destroy my link to the portraits and leave us blind and helpless, I shall kill you myself. Return my property."

Rodolphus looked around, but saw no sympathy, not even from Rabastan. He handed the portrait back to Snape, who said, "Professor, you will use the phrase 'Dark Lord' when speaking of him."

"Yes, Headmaster," the portrait replied.

"Professor, was one of these things hidden in a cave, and could you take us to that cave?"

"There was one in a cave. I cannot, however, take you there as I cannot apparate. There are charts at Hogwarts that can show you the location, but you would have to go there to get them."

"Can you bring them to us?" asked Rabastan.

"I am a portrait. I cannot leave my frames, and I cannot hold anything. Someone will have to go."

Snape was once again the center of a circle of eyes. "No," he stated flatly. "I'm not going. It's too dangerous. I have no intention of joining Avery in Azkaban."

"You have to," Mulciber pointed out. "You can open the defenses and get onto the grounds. You can get into the headmaster's office. You have the portraits all over the castle to warn you of danger. It has to be you."

In the end, Snape allowed himself to be outvoted. It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when he apparated to the perimeter near the Quidditch pitch, spoke an opening charm, and entered the grounds. All the students were gone, but the staff was still there, as well as workmen continuing to repair the damage from the fighting less than two weeks earlier. Dumbledore had told him which areas of the grounds and castle would be empty so that he wouldn't be seen, and Snape hurried over to the boat grotto, up the rocky tunnel, into a courtyard and up side stairs to his office.

They were all waiting for him – Shacklebolt, Robards, McGonagall, Hagrid, and Harry Potter.

"What's he doing here?" Snape asked without preamble, glaring at Potter.

"Good evening, Severus," Dumbledore's portrait said. "We are all pleased to see that the events of the past ten days have not affected you in the slightest. Still the same affable…"

"Sarcasm is a waste of time. I have to get the charts and…"

"There are no charts."

"Of course there are. You said there were charts that would help…" Snape looked around at the stern faces, "…me get… to the cave." Three heartbeats. "There are no charts, are there?"

"None at all, I'm afraid. I can, however, offer you something better – a guide. Young Harry has been to the cave and can show you around."

"They're expecting me to bring back charts. I don't have much time."

"You will have to invent a reason for the delay. You must accompany Harry to the cave, and Kingsley and Gawain must accompany you."

"And me," said Hagrid. "Don't forget me."

Robards explained. "There are only three conditions under which we move into a raid. One is if we're one hundred percent certain we can round everyone up with a minimum of fighting, like Tiverton. Two is if there's something that needs doing, like your trace at Plymouth."

"What's the third?" Snape asked.

"The situation is deteriorating fast, people are getting killed, and we have no other options."

"I don't like the third scenario," said Snape.

"That's why we didn't go in and grab everyone at Exmouth. We knew about _The Quibbler_, so we weren't sure about your position and didn't want them to kill you in retaliation."

"That was kind of you," said Snape.

"The point is," continued Shacklebolt with a nod to Robards, "that up until now we've been playing catch-up. We don't know about a place until after you arrive, so planning action is hampered. The cave idea is a godsend. We could even have people there waiting for you. Fewer chances for mistakes that way."

"I see." Snape looked around again. "We need to go. I don't have a lot of time."

They snuck out the same way Snape had come in and exited the grounds through the perimeter near the Quidditch pitch. Harry now spoke for the first time. "We're apparating into a tricky area. It's a big rock at the base of a sea cliff. You have to climb down after you get there, and it's slippery. You'll have to give us at least ten minutes to get safely clear of the apparation point before you come in so the pressure of your arrival doesn't knock us off the rocks."

The others agreed, and Harry moved next to Snape with whom he was side-along apparating. "Oh," he said quickly, "and you're going to have to swim a bit, too."

"Wait a minute!" Snape cried as Harry's arm circled his shoulders firmly. "I can't…" – but Harry was turning and they were being sucked through the rib-clenching vortex, and by the time Snape managed to force out the last word, he was standing on a great outcrop of rock, surrounded by wind, waves, and sea spray – "…swim."

"We know," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore was pretty sure you couldn't. That's why Hagrid's coming."

"Oh," said Snape, but he was, in fact, relieved. If anyone was going to have to help him swim, he'd prefer it to be Hagrid.

There were grooves cut into the rock to help them climb down, a process which required all their attention and effectively stopped all conversation. Once on the boulders below, while they waited for the next traveler, Harry turned to regard Snape's profile. "I talked to Petunia," he said quietly.

"You have my sympathy," said Snape without looking at the boy.

"She remembers you."

"Now she has my sympathy."

Harry took a deep breath. "You loved her, didn't you?"

Snape turned to face Harry then, his eyes cold and impenetrable. "Harry Potter," he said, his voice soft and menacing, "there are few people in the world that I am less likely to have loved than your Aunt Petunia."

As the pop of apparation announced the arrival of Gawain Robards on the rock above them, Harry burst into helpless laughter.

"What's so funny?" Robards asked after he and Shacklebolt had clambered down the rock face, for Harry was still trying to control his giggles.

"Professor Snape made a joke," Harry gasped.

Shacklebolt regarded Snape suspiciously. "Who are you," he intoned, "and what have you done with the real Severus Snape?"

"Very funny," said Snape, but refrained from saying anything more as the shock wave of Hagrid's apparating hit them. Hagrid made it down the rock surprisingly nimbly considering that the hand- and footholds weren't made for hands and feet his size.

Harry led the little group the short distance along the slippery boulders to the point where they came closest to the cliff face. He pointed to what appeared to be a large crack in the cliff. "We go in there. The tide's still going out, so it's not full of water, but we still have to swim. It'll be dark inside. The tunnel angles to the left, and then there's a place where there's steps leading to a big cave. It'll be dark and cold. You'll need Lumos spells once we're inside. I'll go first."

"Com' on," said Hagrid, stepping up beside Snape, taking him around the waist and pulling him backwards toward the water.

"Wait a minute," Snape yelped. "Why can't I face forward?"

"Ya face forward while I'm swimming and yer face'll be in the water and ya'll drown," said Hagrid. "Me, I kinda thought ya wanted t' see this through t' the end, but it's up t' you."

"The important thing," Shacklebolt advised as he removed his cloak and shoes, "is don't do anything. You relax, don't move, and let Hagrid handle it. If you start struggling, it will hamper Hagrid, and you could both drown."

"When I come back," Snape told him, "I'm bringing an inflatable raft."

Shacklebolt and Robards struck out after Harry, and then Hagrid eased himself into the water with the suddenly panicky Snape. Up until that moment Snape would never have credited that the simple action of being pulled into water would trigger such a strong instinct to escape, but it did. Hagrid was luckily too big to fight, and just kept talking.

"Lean back, lean back, I gotcha. Ya don't got to worry, I ain't losing all those years o' work to a little bit o' water. Put yer head back 'til yer ears are under, ya'll float better. Now, just relax and let me do the work. You hold your wand. When it gets dark, give me a Lumos."

Relaxing was one of the hardest things Snape had ever done in his life. Every muscle in his body wanted to struggle, to fight against the water. He willed himself to be still, even though wavelets washed over him and salt water entered his nose and mouth. After a while, after they entered the dark tunnel and he cast the Lumos spell, he realized that he was still breathing fairly easily, and he really did start to relax. Then they reached the stairs and Hagrid was hauling him, wet and shivering, out of the water.

It was one of the coldest places Snape had ever been, and it reminded him of dementors. He quickly cast a drying spell, and saw that the others had done the same.

Harry glanced around the cave. "This is the first one," he said. Then he walked to one side and pointed at a section of wall. "There's a door here that requires a blood payment."

"That's me," said Robards in a very professional tone, and pulled a small penknife from his robes. He made a cut on his hand and smeared some of the blood on the stone. The stone vanished, leaving an archway through which the five stepped into a vast, boundless cavern, most of which seemed filled by an enormous lake with only a small area of rock circling its rim. The dark was so impenetrable that the feeble glow of the wands gave only the faintest illumination, and far out in the water there seemed to be an tiny, answering green glow.

"The lake," said Harry, "is full of inferi."

Shacklebolt, Robards, and Hagrid stepped back. Snape stepped forward. "Real inferi?" he asked, the sudden eagerness in his voice unmistakable.

"You've never seen one before?" an incredulous Harry asked, beginning to giggle again.

Snape stared daggers. "A history teacher does not have to have witnessed an execution by guillotine to explain the French Revolution," he said. "Be sensible."

"Do you know what the green light in the middle of the lake is?" Shacklebolt asked.

"It was the place where Voldemort guarded one of his horcruxes," Harry told them. "But it's not there anymore."

"You and Dumbledore found it and destroyed it?"

"No, the one we found was a fake. The real one had been found and removed years before by Regulus Black."

Something made Harry glance to his right, where Snape was gaping at him in horrified astonishment.

"What do you know about Regulus?" Snape asked Harry in a voice that was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

"What do you know about my aunt's sister?" Harry responded, blatantly mindful of the ears around them.

"Are there more chambers than this?" Robards inquired, apparently unaware of the other drama taking place in front of him.

"No," Harry answered quickly. "This is it. There's a boat somewhere around here that'll take one person to the island, but since the thing that was there is gone, there's no point anymore. Do you think you can use the cave?"

"Of course we can, especially if they intend to use only the outer part." He turned to Snape. "Do you think you could persuade them that the outer cave is all there is? We could have people in here and on the cliff, to block their exit from the tunnel."

"I suppose," Snape replied. "They're not really interested in horcruxes, certainly not in ones that aren't here anymore. I can make sure they stay in the outer chamber. Are you sure about closing and reopening the archway once your people are inside?"

They all looked back at the entrance to the lake cavern, but it had already closed. "It did that before," Harry told them. "All it needs is a little more blood."

"Then we're set," said Robards. "It's a perfect layout."

They left the cave and swam back to the boulders to disapparate from the rock. Snape went with them to Hogwarts so that all trace of his apparating point in Inverness would show that Hogwarts was where he came from. It gave Harry a moment to speak privately.

"I want to talk to you," he told Snape. "When and where is up to you. I know exactly what happened to Regulus Black, and I'll tell you it all in exchange for even the smallest piece of information about my mom."

"I shall consider it," said Snape, and apparated to Loch Ness.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as Snape walked into the cottage. He'd used no drying spell this time – he was soaking wet and shivering.

"See! See!" Yaxley was shouting in the background. "I told you he'd come back."

"What kept you?" Rabastan snarled.

"How in Merlin's name did you get so wet?" demanded Macnair.

"Where are the charts?" Mulciber asked, and his voice was the dangerous one.

Snape pulled out his wand and cast a drying spell. "The charts are in the library, where I had to search based on a description of their location because there are no pictures in the library. Do you remember what happened, Al, when you tried to smuggle that edition of the Kama Sutra out of the library?"

Mulciber chuckled. "I couldn't get out the door. Don't tell me the charts are guarded, too."

"Unfortunately," said Snape. "But the location is on the Pembrokeshire coast. You can land on the sea cliff and climb down, or you can apparate to an outcrop of rock at the base of the cliff. The rock is easier than the climb down. In either case you have to go at low tide and you have to go through water. Do any of you swim?"

None of the other Death Eaters looked the slightest bit optimistic.

"Once past the water," Snape continued, "it opens up into a pretty big cave – larger than this whole cottage by a good deal. It was hard to see exactly how big with just one Lumos spell."

"So we can use it," said Rabastan.

"Only if we come and go at low tide. It would be good as a place to take captives, but I wouldn't use it as a regular base. Restricts movement too much."

"Couldn't we just apparate in and out of the cave once we get there?" asked Rodolphus.

"There's been a lot of magic in that cave," Snape told them. "Maybe centuries. You'll feel it when you get there. I wouldn't try apparating. It would be like throwing yourself against a shield."

There wasn't much more they could do until after the meeting with the cell the next day. They had supper and then retired for the night. Snape lay awake for a while thinking about Regulus Black and wondering how Harry Potter knew anything about him. If the information came from Sirius, then it wouldn't be complimentary to either Regulus or Snape.

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_Wednesday, June 17, 1998 (the last quarter)_

Harry woke up very late the next day. His excursion to the cave had tired him more than he'd realized, and then he'd stayed up late telling Hermione and the Weasleys everything that had happened. Yawning mightily, he got out of bed, slipped a bathrobe on, and trotted downstairs in search of breakfast.

The only one in the kitchen was Mrs. Weasley. "There you are, dear. Up at last. I'll bet you'd like a spot of something to eat, now wouldn't you?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley. I would, thanks." Harry looked around at the empty house and yard. "Where is everyone?"

"Arthur's at the Ministry, of course," said Mrs. Weasley, busy with bacon, eggs, toast, and porridge. "George has taken Ron to Diagon Alley to check the shop. Hermione's gone to Hogwarts because there was something she wanted to look up in the library, and Ginny's stepped out to visit Luna for a bit. Everyone will be back by lunch. Except Arthur, of course." She set a heaping plate in front of Harry. "You won't have long to wait. It's nearly lunch time now."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than they heard a faint double pop as George and Ron apparated in at the edge of the yard. They were talking animatedly, and Harry had the feeling it was about the joke shop. It would be good for both brothers, Harry thought, if they could become closer because if it.

Ron and George burst into the house in a whirlwind of energy, shouting 'Lunch! What's for lunch?" and trying to snag pieces of Harry's breakfast.

"Honest, Mum," George said through a mouthful of toast, "he doesn't need it all. He's going to have lunch in a few minutes."

"And so are you," retorted Mrs. Weasley, moving to protect Harry and his food. "So leave him alone."

Another faint pop sounded outside, and the four looked toward the window to see Hermione walking sedately down the path, her arms loaded with books. "'Scuse me," said Ron, and rushed out to help her carry them

They came in together, Hermione just in front of Ron. "Good morning, Harry," Hermione began, then stopped, the words cut off, her eyes wide and the expression on her face dissolving into shock.

The others turned to the wall behind them. On Mrs. Weasley's clock, Ginny's hand was moving into the area labeled 'Mortal Peril."

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It was early afternoon, and in the cottage by Loch Ness, Severus Snape was decidedly nervous. He was nervous because there was a meeting going on, and he wasn't part of it. The meeting had started at noon, and all morning there had been debate in the cottage as to who would attend and who would not. In the end the opinion of the others didn't matter. Only Rabastan's opinion mattered, and Rabastan would only go to the meeting with his brother. As a result, Shacklebolt and Robards could have no information on its location because no one there could be traced.

If there was one thing that Snape did not want at that moment, it was excitement. He wanted Rabs and Dolph to come back from that meeting with perfectly boring news and a plan to continue routine surveillance for the next five years. What he got was a sudden thumping and vibration in his pocket that conveyed the same sense of urgency – minus the pain, of course – that the Dark Mark had while the Dark Lord was still alive.

Snape rose slowly from his chair and rotated his shoulders and neck. "I need some air. Any of you up for a stroll to the loch to spot Nessie?"

The enthusiasm of the others was underwhelming. Mulciber dismissed the suggestion with an irritated wave of his hand, Macnair shrugged and said, "Don't see the point," while Yaxley at first seemed interested, then shook his head.

"You are all pathetic," said Snape, walking to the door. "If no one wishes to accompany me, I shall go alone." He left them in the cottage and headed toward the lake shore.

Once there he took out the portrait of Dumbledore. "We're alone," he said as he opened it.

"Thank goodness. Severus, what are your people doing? We need to know."

"Four of us are here waiting for the Lestranges to come back from their meeting with the Devon cell. What's happened?"

"When did they leave?"

"Noon."

Dumbledore sighed. "It cannot have been them. Severus, at about eleven thirty this morning, Ginny Weasley disappeared. We think she has been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Snape was already running through lists of names. He had a pretty good idea, though he hoped he was wrong. "By whom?"

"We don't know. Harry is here now, and he reports that she left the Burrow before mid morning to visit Luna Lovegood. Luna and her father confirm that Ginny was there. Then, when it was time to get back to the Burrow for lunch, Ginny decided to walk – it is an easy walking distance. At that point, somewhere between the Lovegood's house and the Burrow, the Weasley clock suddenly moved her hand to Mortal Peril. The others have been out looking for her, but there is no trace."

"No trace of any magic at all?" Snape asked.

"All over the place. But it is a town where there are many magical families, and it is impossible to tell if any of the signs have anything to do with Ginny's disappearance."

"It could be Cecil Crabbe," said Snape. "We have no idea where he went or what he's doing. The thing is, he wasn't really interested in Ginny, Dolph was."

"Who was Cecil interested in?"

"Harry Potter. His next choices were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He figured they must all three have been there when Vincent died. They're the ones he blamed. Dolph wants Molly Weasley for killing Bella, or Ginny because she was the one Molly was protecting when she attacked Bella."

"A crime of opportunity," mused Dumbledore. "That makes sense."

"How so, sir?"

"The clock. If the attacker had been waiting for Ginny, the clock would have shown Mortal Peril earlier. That would indict that the attacker had not formulated a plan, or was not even intending to attack Ginny at all, until he saw her. A simple Petrificus spell – any first or second year could have done it – and disapparate out. Do you have any idea where Cecil might be hiding?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Any suggestions? I have an intensely upset young man here."

The idea was one that had not occurred to Snape before. _Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley? I suppose it isn't so strange._ He filed the thought away and concentrated on the problem. "Dolph is not going to be happy. We could work with that."

"Explain," said Dumbledore.

"Dolph isn't interested in Cecil's revenge. Dolph wants Molly, or Ginny, or both to avenge Bella. As long as Cecil was with us, it was in Dolph's interest to persuade Cecil to go along with a Ginny kidnapping as a way of hurting Harry, Ron, and Hermione. But if Cecil's on his own taking Ginny, then he's cheating Dolph of his revenge. I'd almost wager that after the Weasleys themselves, the one most interested in getting Ginny back is Dolph."

"You would lose your wager," Dumbledore said. "There are a few others. But I admit, Rodolphus ranks high. It is good to know that Ginny is just a means to get to Harry and the others. It means we have time to work on it. You will, of course, keep us informed."

"Certainly, Professor." Snape closed the portrait and walked back to the cottage. He was about fifty feet away when Rabastan and Rodolphus apparated in.

The three entered the cottage together. Rabastan was quite pleased with the way the meeting had gone.

"They're rotating in and out every couple of hours. Potter and Granger are staying with the Weasleys. Arthur's at the Ministry every day, so we don't have to worry about him, and the older Weasley boys aren't there either. George and Ron went off somewhere together this morning, so we might not have to deal with them either, and apparently Potter and Granger leave from time to time. There are times when it's just Molly and Ginny. We should be ready to apparate in at a moment's notice."

"How will they notify us?" Snape asked. "We can't use floo, and we're too far for owls to be fast enough."

"We're moving again," said Rodolphus. "Back to Devon. A place on the coast of Lyme Bay. You'll like it."

"Is that wise?" Snape asked. "They've already seen us in the southwest. Who knows what Rowle and Travers may have told them about Exmouth. They may already suspect we're going after Weasleys and have nearby places watched."

"You know," Rodolphus said, "The rest of us aren't as timid as you are, and I'm getting a little tired of you criticizing everything I suggest. We're taking you and Al first, and Al's going to baby-sit you while Rabs and I bring Walden and Nigel."

It was wonderful, Snape thought, to be in a position where he had to manipulate a group of people against whom the tactic of reverse psychology worked so flawlessly. _Could it reach the point where I could get Dolph to protect Molly Weasley by insisting that he kill her? Probably not, but it's something to think about._

The seaside home was a small distance from Sidmouth and was quite similar to Nutcombe's home on the Bristol Channel. In this case, however, the owner was not in residence, and the six Death Eaters were able to do as they pleased. For a couple of hours, at any rate. Then the owl came.

Snape was upstairs in his bedroom reclining in a comfortable chair. For the first time since the night he'd fled Hogwarts castle in order not to fight against McGonagall and Flitwick, Snape had a room with some privacy. It would have been better if it had had books, but privacy without books, at the moment, was better than books without privacy. It was about three in the afternoon when, from downstairs, a horrendous howling startled Snape upright. He knew at once what it was. Rodolphus had just learned about Ginny Weasley.

_Act like everything is a surprise,_ Snape reminded himself, racing down the stairs and nearly colliding with Yaxley in the process.

"Merlin! What d' you think happened?" Yaxley shouted, but Snape just shook his head.

In the front sitting room, Rabastan was trying to restrain Rodolphus from breaking things. Mulciber and Macnair rushed in from the kitchen to help, while Snape and Yaxley stayed on the sidelines.

"I'll kill him!" Rodolphus screamed. "It's Cecil! I know it's Cecil! I'll kill him!"

The three managed to wrestle Rodolphus into a chair, but it was hard to calm him down. A lot of his ranting wasn't even articulate, just screaming and raving.

"What happened?" Mulciber asked quietly. It struck Snape at that moment that outside of the Lestrange brothers, the rest of them were a rather unemotional, rational group. Good if it ever came to a vote on anything.

"They've lost the girl. They got back from the meeting, and every one of the Weasleys was out hunting for her. It was hard for our people to stay hidden, and it took them awhile to piece it together. The girl - Ginny - she's disappeared, and everyone thinks she's been kidnapped by Death Eaters. They've put protective spells all around the Weasley home and none of our targets is going in or out. Except Potter. He's apparently been conferring with the Ministry. Our people say there's now a couple of aurors on guard." Rabastan paused to accept a glass of mead from Macnair and tried to get Rodolphus to drink it, but Rodolphus didn't even seem to notice the glass.

"Do you think it really is Cecil?" Macnair asked.

"It might very well be," said Snape. "We were separated on Friday. He's had two days longer than our people to spy on them. He may even have spotted some of our people, and that tipped his hand."

Rabastan looked around at the others. "Does any of you have any idea where Cecil might go? Any idea at all?"

They glanced guiltily at each other. Truth be told, not one of them would have considered either the Crabbes or the Goyles to be of high enough social status to have associated with, not even Snape the half-blood, except maybe…

Yaxley coughed slightly, more a clearing of his throat than anything. "They liked the quiet of the Lake District," he offered.

"What?" Macnair laughed. "All those trees? All that water? All that open air?"

Snape leaned casually against the door jamb, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Very gently he flipped the catch on the portrait and eased it slightly open. "Can we send the members of the Devon cell up to the Lake District to look for him?" he asked. "After all, it's the only lead we have so far on where Cecil might be."

Rodolphus roused from his fit and took the bait at once. "No," he said flatly. "The cell stays here and keeps an eye on that woman. We'll look for Cecil and the girl."

"Rabastan can't go," Snape pointed out. "He's the only one with authority over the cell here."

Rodolphus appealed to Rabastan, who sighed and acquiesced. "I can appoint a deputy," he said. "We arranged that at the meeting. All he needs is a token from me."

"Fine," said Snape. "We can plan this evening and go…"

"Why are you always trying to delay us!" Rodolphus screamed, springing from his chair and advancing on the startled Snape.

Snape backed away, his hands now at shoulder height, palms forward. "I'm not against you, Dolph," he said. "I just want this all to work out."

"Right," Rodolphus snarled. "I bet you want to be Rabs's deputy with the cell."

"I want what you want, Dolph. I'll go where you put me. I'll stay here if you want, I'll go to the Lake District if you want… You can sent Al or Nigel to take over the cell…"

"And why not Walden?" Rodolphus glanced from one to the other.

"Dolph," Macnair said coolly, "I really don't think Severus meant anything by it."

"No? What if he's been fooling us all along and there really is something between you two? You want Rabs to send Nigel or Al so the two of you can be together. Maybe plotting together…"

By now even Rabastan was getting worried. "Dolph," he said, "I don't think it matters who stays here to supervise the cell. It could be any of us. You choose."

Rodolphus glared at them all. "Walden," he said finally. "Walden stays here with the cell. The rest of us go Crabbe hunting. And not tomorrow morning either," he added, stepping forward until he and Snape were practically touching, staring into Snape's eyes. "Now. We go now. Before Crabbe does something I'll make him regret."

"All right, Dolph," said Rabastan, pulling a small envelope out of his pocket. He turned to Macnair. "The signatures of all the cell members are on this paper. Go to…"

"No!" Rodolphus shouted. "You don't want them all to know. You and Walden go outside. Tell him there where they can't hear. We don't want any leaks."

Rabastan sighed. He took a piece of parchment and wrote a quick note to the cell members, showed the note to Rodolphus, then tied it to the leg of the owl and sent it off. That done, he gestured to Macnair. "Come on outside and I'll brief you."

The two put some distance between themselves and the house, Rodolphus keeping an eye on Snape the whole time. Then, after about fifteen minutes, Macnair disapparated and Rabastan returned to the house. In the moment when Rodolphus was distracted by talking to Rabastan, Snape reached into his pocket and closed the portrait.

"Have you ever been to Grasmere?" Rodolphus demanded of Snape.

Snape shook his head. Yaxley, too, seemed unfamiliar with the place.

"Good," said Rodolphus. "Al, you take Nigel. I'm taking the professor. The graveyard behind that little church should be fine – it's late enough."

'That little church' was St. Oswald's, and many of the graves there had stones set flat into the earth in lieu of raised monuments. Snape, waiting for the Lestrange brothers to decide what to do next, glanced around at the stones. One in particular caught his eye, and brought to mind Snape's favorite view of London – 'This city now doth, like a garment, wear the beauty of the morning – silent, bare. Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie open unto the fields and to the sky, all bright and glittering in the smokeless air.' He waited calmly for the Lestranges to plan the next move.

It was clear, abundantly clear, that they should have spent the night in Devon planning, and come north the following day, but Rodolphus wouldn't hear of it. The five wizards split up, looking for a hotel or inn, anyplace, that had rooms available at the beginning of the tourist season. It was hard, but they eventually found a little place a bit outside of town. A couple of mind spells, and the room was prepaid. No one noticed that five adult men were sleeping there.

_Great,_ thought Snape. _I get my own room for two hours and never get to sleep there. At least I'm not pairing up with Macnair._

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Far to the south, in Teignmouth, Devon, aurors raided the shop where Macnair had called together all of the remaining members of the Devon cell. All eight were captured without a struggle. The aurors were following the trace that Macnair had carried ever since he started working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures sixteen years earlier. Since none of the Death Eaters managed to escape, no word of the raid was sent to Rabastan Lestrange in Grasmere.

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_Thursday, June 18, 1998_

Early the next morning - very early the next morning – Snape was prodded awake by Rodolphus's foot.

"What," said Snape, "are you doing?"

"Get up," Rodolphus insisted. "You're taking me to the cave."

"Get stuffed," Snape replied and rolled over. It was the wrong thing to do.

The nonverbal spells were a silencing spell and Snape's own Levicorpus, which had been very popular, for reasons beyond Snape's control, in Rodolphus's seventh year. Rodolphus smirked at Snape, dangling upside down in front of him.

"You're taking me to the cave," Rodolphus repeated.

There were very few options. True, Snape could hang around until the others got up and released him, but that would just make Rodolphus more of an enemy, and Snape always hedged his bets. He nodded, and Rodolphus thought the Liberacorpus that released him. Snape dressed quickly and quietly, and the two men slipped out of the hotel.

"What time is it?" Snape whispered once they were outside. Around them it was still dark, with just a hint of the coming dawn.

"About four thirty."

"Now don't jump down my throat, Dolph, but don't you think we should wait until it's a little lighter before we apparate onto a rock in the middle of the sea? It's not exactly the smoothest footing."

Dolph peered at Snape. "How much time are we talking about?" he said.

"Ten, fifteen minutes. Just so it's light enough that we can see our feet."

"All right," Rodolphus agreed. "Ten minutes. But then we go."

Ten minutes later, Rodolphus took Snape's arm, and the two of them spun into the vortex of apparation and arrived a moment later on the rock, the sea crashing around them much closer to the top of the rock than Snape remembered. He looked around in the dim light of dawn. Where were the boulders that led closer to the cliff?

"Where do we go now?" Rodolphus hollered in Snape's ear.

"I don't know. It looks…" Snape scanned the cliff face for the fissure that led into the cave. He couldn't see it. "It looks different."

"You rat! You've brought me to the wrong place!"

The sun was just at the horizon now, illuminating the water and the rock at their feet, though the cliff was still in shadow. Snape looked down. "No, Dolph, it's the right place. See those niches in the rock? That's for climbing down onto the boulders." Understanding dawned with the light of day. "It's high tide, Dolph. I told you. You can only get into the cave when the tide's low. You're going to have to wait until later."

"When does the tide go out?"

"It's different every day. It depends on the moon.* We could check a muggle newspaper. They always have things like that. For the ships."

Reluctantly Rodolphus had to agree that Snape was right. They couldn't get near the cave until later. The trip had, however, (as Snape quickly discovered) softened Rodolphus to him somewhat.

They apparated back to the hotel where Rabastan and the others were awake, Rabastan having roused everyone else when he discovered Rodolphus and Snape missing. Rodolphus quickly explained, then described the scene.

"There's water everywhere. And it's a long way to the cliff. We can't apparate in because there's been a lot of magic in that cave, so I don't see how we can use it."

"I thought of that," Snape said. "Muggles sell these rubber boats that inflate when you pull a cord. We could get some of those and go into the cave on the little boats. The only thing we have to worry about is the tide. If high tide comes while we're in there, we're stranded."

"We won't drown, will we?" Mulciber asked.

"No, once we're inside, it's above the tide level. It's just the entrance that's blocked by the tide."

They went down to breakfast at six. Poor Yaxley didn't have much time to eat because the others kept asking him about conversations with Crabbe and Goyle and their comments about the Lake District.

"All I can remember is they used to say something about bridal water because at first I thought it had something to do with a wedding."

Snape got up and went to a little stand near the door that held brochures and maps, returning with one of the various meres, waters, and tarns. "Windermere's the biggest," he said. "I don't see a Bridal Water. Crummock Water, Loweswater, Ullswater… What about Rydal Water? Could it have been Rydal Water?"

It could have, and immediately after breakfast, the five went to Rydal Water, a beautiful little lake that had the advantage of being close to Grasmere, and less than a mile long. It was going to be relatively short work finding if anyone had recently used magic nearby.

There was, by this time, nothing odd in the fact that Mulciber stayed with Snape and Yaxley. Dealing with Rodolphus was becoming more and more of a chore by the minute, and by common consensus the three left the task to Rabastan. That, after all, was what brothers were for.

"What are we looking for?" Yaxley asked after the two groups had split up to circumnavigate Rydal Water in opposite directions.

"Evidence of magic," Snape replied, and showed Yaxley a couple of spells that would reveal if magic had been performed within a certain radius within a recent time frame. It was clear that Yaxley was not going to be one of the major sources of information, but he could cast a simple, limited spell.

"Do you really think we're going to find him here?" Mulciber asked as the trio made its way around the north side of the water. "It's a pretty long shot."

"The problem is," Snape replied, "that we don't have any other shots. If he's not here, where do we look for him?" They continued on for a few minutes, then Snape added, "And Cecil isn't too… how shall I say it… creative. He's likely to go to a place he already knows, and believe that no one else will think of it. It's one of the characteristics of the simplistic criminal mind. They honestly believe that no one else will think of it."

Mulciber laughed. "Thank Merlin we have smarter people to rely on. So you think he really might be here."

"It's as good a guess as any," Snape said.

They found nothing. It wasn't that the area was devoid of traces of wizard existence. There had clearly been a wide range of spells cast around Rydal Water over the course of centuries. There just hadn't been anything big or recent. That changed when they rejoined Rabastan and Rodolphus on the eastern end of the lake.

"There's someone over there," Rodolphus told them. "There's a cabin there with magical wards. New wards, new spells. I think it's him. Rabs said we had to talk to you before going in. We can go in, right?"

"Only if you want to lose your best shot at revenge," Snape said, and Rodolphus quieted immediately. Snape stepped over to the lake shore, his hands in his pockets. "We don't really know yet if it's him," Snape said, "and we don't know what kind of spells he has in place." He turned to Rodolphus, "Excuse me, I may be wrong. Did you check for that?"

Rodolphus shook his head.

"You didn't check, so we don't know." Snape paused, then continued. "May I make a suggestion?"

Rodolphus opened his mouth, but Rabastan laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Go ahead," Rabastan said.

Snape came in close to the circle of wizards. "We go in openly, and we tell him the truth. One of us, maybe Yaxley because they know each other better, goes closer, but the others stay in view. No wands. Keep a short distance away and call to him. Tell him we've been trying to figure out where he was since he got away at Plymouth last Friday…"

"That's not true," said Yaxley.

"It would have been true if we hadn't had so many other things to think about," Snape retorted. "Tell him we were watching the Weasleys, and are thrilled that he's still working on the plan and has been successful. You figured out where he might be, and we're here to carry on."

"Do you think he'll fall for it?"

"There's nothing to fall for," said Snape. "So far as we know, he's still one of us. We just got separated for a while."

"What about Dolph?"

They all looked at Rabastan. "I'll keep hold of him," Rabastan assured them.

The Lestranges led the way to the little cottage set back from the water. There was an open area, a clearing, in front of the cottage, and Yaxley entered it first, not carrying a wand. He stopped when he felt the first faint pressure of the spells, about thirty feet from the door. "Cecil," he called. "Cecil, are you in there? It's Nigel. The others are with me."

Snape, Mulciber and the Lestranges edged into view on the edge of the clearing, arms at their sides, hands visible. For a few minutes there was silence. "Cecil?" Yaxley called again, "are you in there?"

From the cottage, Crabbe's voice answered. "Where are the rest of you? Show yourselves, everyone!"

Yaxley had the good sense not to turn around and look to the others for guidance. "We're all there is. Walden's in Devon with the cell. They got Ken, Geoff, Thor, and Nate the same day we were separated. Amycus and Alecto got careless in Diagon Alley. Dan and Archie were picked up transiting Victoria Station."

"What about Virgil?" Crabbe shouted back.

Rabastan strode forward. "You've contacted Virgil? When? And Theodore – did you get hold of Theo?"

"Theo's a great cowardly git!" Crabbe yelled. "Virgil's got a group from Lincoln that've gone into Yorkshire. They're planning something real, not this penny-toss kid's stuff like you are!"

"Penny-toss!" Now it was Rodolphus entering the fray. "That's brave coming from someone who's busy tossing the pennies. If you thought it wasn't worth anything, why'd you go after the Weasley girl?"

There was a moment's pause from the cottage. Then Crabbe called back. "No I didn't. I never went near her! If she said it was me, she's lying. Memory spells confuse you. That's it! She's confused!"

The five Death Eaters looked at each other, then Nigel shouted, "Cecil, can we come in and talk to you?"

Another moment while Crabbe thought about this. "Okay," he said, "but no wands."

The cottage was a mess. Crabbe had apparently been there since running from the aurors at Plymouth nearly a week earlier, and was clearly no housekeeper. He gestured toward chairs, and they sat.

"What's this about memory spells?" Mulciber asked while Rabastan kept Rodolphus quiet.

Crabbe shrugged. He'd been found out and realized he couldn't hide the truth. "I wanted to watch the Weasleys yesterday," he admitted. "I didn't want to get too close, so I went in far down the lane. I was trying to think what to do when I saw the girl. She was on her way home. I tried to catch her, but she saw me. I cast an Obliviate just as she disapparated. I figured she'd tell everyone, so I rushed back here and put up more guards. When nobody came, I guessed it was okay, but then you showed up."

"You must have hit her with the spell," said Mulciber. "She never got home, and the area is crawling with people, including aurors, looking for her. What kind of Obliviate spell did you cast?"

"There's more than one?" Crabbe asked.

"Great," said Snape. "There's a teenage witch with total amnesia somewhere in Britain. I don't suppose any of you have any idea where Ginny Weasley would have been apparating to at the moment Cecil's Obliviate spell hit her."

Nobody did. "Tell us about Virgil Jugson and his people," Rabastan asked. "Maybe they can help us."

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	7. Chapter 7

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 7**

Dumbledore rushed back to the headmaster's office where Harry, Hermione, the entire Weasley family, and Gawain Robards were waiting on pins and needles for information.

"He doesn't have her," the portrait announced. "He tried to kidnap her, but she got away. He hit her with an Obliviate spell just as she was disapparating, so she may have arrived with her memory wiped. That was twenty-four hours ago."

"Why didn't she come home?" Mrs. Weasley cried. "Why did she go somewhere else? We could have reversed the spell!"

"Maybe she thought there were more Death Eaters waiting at the Burrow," said George. "She'd have had to come in at the edge of the garden, and they could have grabbed her there."

"We need to check with the whole family," Bill added, "though I doubt she went to any of them. If she had, they'd have found her and contacted us."

Harry was struggling to think the problem through. His relief at hearing that Crabbe didn't have Ginny, that Ginny had managed to escape, was so overwhelming that it made thought difficult. "Professor," he asked the portrait as the Weasleys sat down to make out a list of every spot Ginny might have considered in a moment of danger, "Professor, could Crabbe's Obliviate have interfered with Ginny's apparation?"

"It is possible," Dumbledore replied. "If she was concentrating on her destination, and the spell reached her at exactly the right moment, it could have affected her memory of that destination. She could be almost anywhere."

Harry sighed. He wanted to explode, he wanted to cry, the magnitude of the problem was so great. He could do neither, so he held on tightly to his feelings and sighed. The image of Professor Snape crossed his mind, also holding on tightly to his feelings so that they wouldn't impede his thinking or acting. Was it as hard for the Professor as it was for Harry himself? Maybe it got easier with practice. Harry focused on what Snape had tried to teach him about Occlumency, and struggled to clear his mind of emotions.

Robards had been thinking, not yet part of the conversation. "Molly," he asked suddenly. "Ginny isn't seventeen yet, is she?" When they all looked at him, he explained. "If she's still sixteen, we still have an underage trace on her. If anyone performs magic near her, it will register. We don't normally use it for tracking someone, but it's a possibility."

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The Death Eaters quickly decided that Crabbe would rejoin their group and return with them to Devon. Since no one wanted to disapparate from a house that Crabbe had guarded, Snape and Mulciber went outside to look for good spots. There were hiking trails all around, and they wanted to be sure they weren't being watched by muggles when they left. Snape went east, and Mulciber went west. It gave Snape a chance to talk to Dumbledore.

"I'm going to try to get Cecil to show me where Ginny was standing when she disapparated. It's been less than twenty-four hours, and it may still be possible to follow her. I'm not going to, though. If I find the spot, I'll leave a marker for someone else, and one of her brothers can try following her. I'll tell the others there wasn't a trail to follow."

"What can we do to help?" Dumbledore asked.

"Make sure there are no aurors around. We don't want any of them to get trigger-happy if they spot us."

"You have it. I shall tell Gawain right away."

When Snape rejoined Mulciber, he found that Mulciber had located an excellent apparating spot well away from any possibility of being seen by muggles. They left at once and returned to the house on the Devon coast where Snape hoped he would finally be able to spend the night in the privacy of his own bedroom. First, however, he suggested going to Ottery St. Catchpole to try trailing Ginny. It surprised him not at all that the other Death Eaters expected him to do the work.

Snape and Crabbe apparated to the same spot Crabbe had gone to the previous day.

"Are you sure this is it?" Snape asked for the seventh time as Crabbe stomped around the leaf-strewn glade getting his bearings. Snape himself had not moved from the apparating spot since he was reasonably certain that after a minute and a half Crabbe wouldn't be able to positively identify it again.

"Yeah," Crabbe replied. "I came here twice before. It's the only spot I've ever spun into in this area. It's just I don't remember…"

"Well it was twenty-four hours ago," Snape sighed, trying to stay patient. "Come over here. Now which direction were you facing when you came in yesterday?"

Crabbe turned slowly on the spot. "That way," he said finally, pointing away from the path.

"Did you start walking right away, or did you look around first?"

"Looked around. That's when I saw the path."

"Was anyone on the path? Did you see anyone anywhere?"

"No, it was all empty."

"How long before you started to move? And in which direction?"

"'Bout a minute. That way." Crabbe pointed in the direction of the Lovegood house.

"Excellent," Snape said, thankful he didn't have to be this gentle with his classes. But of course, his classes didn't control information he needed. _When this is all over, I'm going to tell Cecil just exactly how stupid he really is, and I'm going to enjoy doing it._

Slowly, with apparent calm, Snape coaxed Crabbe down the path until they got to the point where Crabbe had spotted Ginny Weasley returning home from her visit to the Lovegoods. "Did you know who she was?" Snape asked.

"Sure. Red hair. She had to be the Weasley girl."

"Did you keep moving or stand still?"

"Stood still. I was trying to figure out should I grab her or not. Then I thought I should grab her. She was closer to me then. So I moved, but she saw me and started spinning. I just got her with the memory spell so she couldn't tell about me, and she was gone."

"Were you standing right here when you cast the spell?"

"Yeah. No. No, I was a couple of steps closer 'cause I started moving…"

"I want you to move forward exactly the way you did yesterday, and cast exactly the same spell with your wand pointing in exactly the same direction."

Crabbe nodded, and to be fair he did a credible job of recreating the previous day's actions, with the same cautious sidling step and the same furtive stops and starts. Then he startled back, and Snape could imagine the look on the Weasley girl's face as she sighted, and recognized, the father of Vincent Crabbe. With a sudden swift movement, Cecil Crabbe strode forward, wand arm raised. With determination born of panic, he aimed the wand at an unmistakable spot in the road and cried loudly…

"_Obliterate!"_

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"He obliterated my daughter!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked when Dumbledore reported to the committee of the whole at the Burrow, an action made possible by the fact that Harry now also carried a miniature portrait. Harry, too, felt his insides twist into knots, but with his newfound respect for occlumency he tried to rein the feelings in and focus on the problem. He was thus able to notice that neither Dumbledore nor Hermione seemed as distraught by the news as Mrs. Weasley.

"Excuse me, Professor," said Hermione, "but I've never heard of the incantation 'Obliterate.' I've used 'Oblittero' to erase tracks in the snow, but…"

"That, interestingly enough, is exactly what Severus said," Dumbledore replied. "Molly, please, I understand that you are upset, but it might not be as bad as you fear. Severus says that Crabbe honestly believes he cast an Obliviate spell and does not realize that he may have said something else. The intent behind the spell was to wipe memory."

"Does it make any difference?" Mrs. Weasley cried. "A spell is a spell!"

"Not if it is the accidental creation of one. Severus says that intent matters in the creation, and he has invented quite a few and should know. He says the original meaning of 'oblitterare' was the wearing away of the letters of an engraved inscription so that it could no longer be read, but that did not erase knowledge of the historical fact that the letters commemorated. In a very real sense, the word means to make invisible or to cause to vanish. This is what Miss Granger's 'Oblittero' spell did to the tracks in the snow. Severus believes it possible that…"

"Ginny's right here near us but invisible!" Harry cried. "How do we bring her back?"

"Do not be hasty," said Dumbledore. "Near us only if she was apparating to the Burrow when the spell hit her. There is as yet no way to tell if the spell might have affected her ability to apparate further. Severus also does not yet know what spell, if any, might bring her back, and he is currently in no position to experiment."

"You tell that git Potions teacher," George growled, "that he'd better find my sister…"

"George," Dumbledore started, "you really must try…"

"No!" Harry cried, silencing them all. "Professor Snape's given us what he could, and it's a lot more than we had before. There's some things we have to do on our own. Sir, what else did the professor pass on?"

"Thank you, Harry. Severus left a marker at the spot where Ginny disapparated. We can learn something about where she went. He is going to tell the other Death Eaters that Crabbe destroyed her so that they do not continue looking. If we or Gawain finds her, we are to try to communicate, but to keep her location secret. Severus feels there is a chance she is safer now, invisible, than she was before. If there is any indication that her invisible state is damaging her, we are to notify him at once."

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, "isn't there anything you can do?"

In the silence that followed, Dumbledore regarded Harry with gentle regret. "I am dead, Harry," he said at last. "We are fortunate that even this amount of my personality and memory remain. I cannot hold a wand, and I cannot cast a spell. The only thing I have to assist you with is eyes, ears, and words of advice. Locked within this frame, I could not find Ginny nor free her once you find her. Of all of us, Filius might have the best chance of success, but only if he were let in on the secret of Severus's current work, and the larger that circle grows, the greater Severus's peril. We must not forget that this is Dark Magic indeed, and that is Severus's area of expertise. If there is the slightest indication that her present state endangers her, he will join us at once, but he does have other duties."

"Then," said Harry, "I suggest that we all go out and follow the path to the Lovegoods' house, find the marker that Professor Snape left, and locate Ginny. The more of us who go, the faster the job's done."

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The Lestranges weren't happy with Snape's report. "Do you think he really did destroy her?" Rabastan insisted.

"I think it's very likely," Snape said. "I wouldn't challenge him with it, though. I don't think he has any clue what he did. You still have the mother – she's the one you really want to get – and Cecil could still be useful."

"Better than the owls, I hope," said Rabastan, not even trying to hide his irritation.

"What's wrong with the owls?" Snape asked.

"I sent one to Walden about an hour ago asking how the cell was doing, and it's not back yet. You'd think the silly bird had to fly to London or something."

"Maybe Walden's just spending extra time composing exactly the right reply," Snape suggested.

Rabastan smiled wanly, but didn't press the issue.

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A quick check by floo network with Gawain Robards revealed that no magical spells had triggered Ginny's underage trace. "Does that mean she has to be somewhere where there aren't any wizards?" Harry asked.

"Possibly," Robards replied. "There are other possibilities, though. The trace can't tell us who performed the spell, so there are places in Britain that we automatically don't register. Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, for example. If we registered every spell around an underage witch or wizard there, the alarms would never stop. Some communities, too, like Godric's Hollow or Ottery St. Catchpole are so full of wizarding families that the trace is effectively useless. Or when there's a major event like the Quidditch World Cup. We simple can't keep track of the incidents when there are too many of them."

"Wait a minute!" Ron was listening behind Harry. "What do you mean, Ottery St. Catchpole! Mum always told us…"

The green image of Robards smiled. "Smart lady, your mother. But have you ever gotten a owl from us because of underage magic?"

"Well, now that you mention it…"

"Mr. Robards," Harry said, "does that mean Ginny might be someplace like Hogsmeade?"

"It's very possible."

"But then she must not be able to contact anyone, or doesn't remember anything, because if she could, she'd have notified us through another wizard where she was."

"Also a distinct possibility."

After finishing the conversation with Robards, the little group of the Weasley family – Mr. Weasley had not gone in to the Ministry that day – plus Harry, Hermione, and Luna set out to find the marker Snape had left.

Mrs. Weasley found the marker. She stayed ahead of everyone else to do the preliminary feeling while they spread across the path and onto the surrounding grass in case she missed it. Harry wasn't exactly sure what they were searching for until Mrs. Weasley stopped and said, "Right here." What was 'here' was an almost subliminal vibration that Harry by himself would surely have missed.

Drawing her wand, Mrs. Weasley stepped into the field of the marker, but Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Please," he said, "let me do this."

"She's my daughter."

"I want to be first. If it's dangerous, I want to be able to warn you."

"Harry, dear, I'll come right back. There'll be only a moment of separation. We don't want to risk you again, not after all that's happened."

"I want to go. I love her."

Mrs. Weasley regarded him for a moment, then stepped away from the marker. "You go ahead, but be sure to step aside from the apparating point because if you're not back in two minutes, we're going after you."

Harry agreed and pulled out his own wand. Inside the small perimeter of the marker, he could feel the traces of magic that indicated an apparation had been performed there. He concentrated on the feeling, turned, and disapparated.

Where he arrived was the empty, boarded-up interior of what had been Florian Fortescue's ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley. Moving away from the apparation point, Harry called out, "Ginny! Ginny, are you here?" There was no response, none at all. Reluctantly, Harry apparated back to the path from the Burrow.

"She went to Diagon Alley," he told the others, "to Fortescue's ice cream parlor."

"That's not possible," said Mr. Weasley. "Everyone in Diagon Alley knows her. She would have gotten lots of help, and if she couldn't remember who she was, people would have contacted us."

Hermione was thinking. "She did arrive. The apparation went somewhere that we can follow. There's the likelihood then that she arrived in an altered state because of Mr. Crabbe's mispronunciation of the spell. Since we know the place isn't dangerous, I suggest we go there and try to find her."

There was general agreement, and one by one they followed Ginny's apparation to the ice cream parlor. "Why didn't we ever apparate before?" Harry asked as he and Mr. Weasley waited for the whole group to arrive.

"You were underage," Mr. Weasley replied. "Besides, it's next to impossible to guarantee an unoccupied spot in Diagon Alley. The risks of apparating into someone else are generally too great. Smart of Ginny, actually, to think of a deserted yet populated spot in a moment of crisis."

They spread out to search the ice cream parlor, from the storage area below with its bottles of flavorings, sacks of sea salt, and drums of milk gone bad, to the upper floors where Fortescue had lived before his disappearance two years before. As they searched, it bothered Harry that in those two years he hadn't wondered about, much less searched for, the unfortunate Fortescue.

It was Mr. Weasley who found Ginny. He'd gone into the upstairs bathroom for a quick look around and happened to glance into the mirror. Behind him, staring past his right shoulder, he saw the pale, ghostly reflection of his daughter. He stared dumbfounded into the mirror for a few seconds, then ran to the landing and called both downstairs and to the others on the upper floor. "She's here! I found her!"

They rushed to the bathroom and one by one looked into the mirror to see Ginny, who communicated by smiling and waving at them. Harry pulled the miniature out of his pocket. "Professor!" he said excitedly. "We've found her!"

"Excellent! What condition is she in?"

"We can see her in a bathroom mirror."

The portrait was silent for a moment. Then it said, "That is not the best of signs. Can she move to other mirrors in the building?"

"I don't know. There's a big mirror in the shop downstairs. We can try." To the reflection of Ginny, Harry said, "Can you hear me?" She nodded, and he continued. "We're going to try to meet you downstairs." She nodded again.

Behind the counter in the shop, they could all see Ginny clearly, though she was pale, colorless, and somewhat transparent. Dumbledore inquired if anyone had a mirror to see if she could go outside the shop, and George immediately apparated to the rear of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and returned with one. It did not work. Although Ginny could appear in George's mirror while it was in Fortescue's shop, she could not follow the mirror outside.

"It's like a ghost that can't leave the place it's haunting," said Ron, and Dumbledore agreed that that was exactly what it sounded like.

"We need Severus," Dumbledore said.

"Why?" Mr. Weasley asked, and Mrs. Weasley added, "Why can't Professor Flitwick do it?"

"Because most wizards can't," Harry said suddenly. "Professor Flitwick never mentioned once the possibility of creating our own spells, but I… I had Professor Snape's Potions book from when he was a student at Hogwarts, and he did it all the time. It's something he can do that the rest of us can't, isn't it?"

"I fear, Harry, that you are correct," said Dumbledore. "Poor Severus. It was precisely that talent that made Voldemort target him for recruitment. One wizard in ten thousand possesses it. It was why he was recruited, and why, Molly, he was never sent out on raids. I believe that Voldemort considered his potions and spell creating abilities so valuable that he was never risked in operations. It was purely our luck that these two rare talents were combined with one even rarer – the occlumency."

"I thought occlumency was a skill you learned," said Harry.

"Generally it is. Severus was born with it. That is so rare that most wizard experts assert that it is impossible. There were only two people in the world that Severus could unclose to and be 'normal' with. Both are dead, and I was not one of them."

"But my mother was, wasn't she?" Harry said, and it was more of a statement than a question.

"I cannot answer that," Dumbledore replied.

"So Severus has a good chance of saving our daughter," said Mr. Weasley.

"Indeed, Arthur. A better chance than any other person I know."

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Impatient at not receiving an answer to his messages, Rabastan eventually decided to go to the prearranged meeting place where Macnair should have met the members of the Devon cell. When he returned, it was difficult to tell if he was more angry or more frightened.

"There was a fight," he told the others. "There are marks of it everywhere. Aurors came in and took the entire group. No one apparated out, and there's no evidence that anyone was able to escape. If they had, they'd have contacted me. Something is going terribly wrong."

The six Death Eaters discussed the problem until late into the night, when they finally went to bed. In the blessed privacy of his own bedroom, Snape was finally able to open the little portrait and again talk to Dumbledore.

In very few words, Dumbledore explained Ginny's plight to Snape. "I don't know a spell to free her," Snape admitted. "I'll have to go there and test some."

"Do not be hasty," Dumbledore cautioned. "There is no indication that the girl is in any jeopardy. We are monitoring her constantly. A day or two is not going to harm her. What is equally essential is what you are learning from your present comrades."

"They know about Macnair and the cell. They're getting paranoid and obsessive. Crabbe says he can get hold of Jugson and his cell, and says it's nearly two dozen people looking not for private revenge but for vengeance for the Dark Lord. It's supposed to make the Brockdale Bridge look like child's play."

"I shall try to placate the Weasleys," Dumbledore sighed, "for what you might lead us to on your end could be infinitely more important. If you try to leave now to work with us, they will know, and we will lose that source of information. Lives are at stake, and Miss Weasley's is not one of them."

"Understood, sir," said Snape. Closing the portrait, he readied himself for bed. He was by this time so tired, and so thankful for the solitude that his spirit and body craved, that he slept immediately and soundly.

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_Friday, June 19, 1998_

The following morning was Cecil Crabbe's moment to shine. He alone knew how to contact Virgil Jugson and his cell. There was, he told them, a check point in Manchester, around Duke Street in the Stretford area, where tall, impersonal apartment buildings had replaced brick terraces thirty years before. Crabbe went alone to contact Jugson, then returned with instructions on how to reach a safe house outside the city.

Jugson was pleased to have the reinforcements. "Merlin! For the past two weeks I've thought it was only me left to carry on. I'd heard you were captured at Hogwarts," – this was addressed to Snape and Yaxley – "What happened? The _Prophet_ said you escaped, but it read like cheap fiction, so I wasn't sure."

"They tried to take us out to Azkaban in a storm," Snape explained. "The crew was more concerned with the weather than with us."

"Was it true there were five of you?"

"The Carrows and Macnair were with us. Alecto and Amycus got careless with Polyjuice in Diagon Alley. Macnair ran into aurors while supervising a cell in Devon."

Jugson was immediately wary. "You seem to have run into some incredible bad luck," he said. "I wouldn't want it to rub off on us."

Rabastan hurried to reassure him. "A matter of carelessness and coincidence. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Maybe not, if Macnair's gone," said Jugson, but would not elaborate.

The attack being planned was against Westminster Bridge. Jugson's operatives had been monitoring the times of day when it was most crowded, and when the blowing up of the bridge would have the most media impact. "Not today. Not Friday afternoon. People aren't so inclined to read the newspaper or watch the news on Friday and Saturday. We learned that if you want to appear open, yet hide a major disaster, you talk on Friday evening. We're going to hit Monday morning so that it hits the noon news. Every muggle in Britain will know about it before the shops close."

Silencing the objections of Rodolphus and Crabbe, Rabastan said, "We'd be proud to assist you. Can we meet the cell to congratulate the troops on their loyalty and initiative, and wish them success in the venture?"

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The aurors hit that afternoon, and all twenty-three members of Jugson's cell were apprehended. Unfortunately, all seven members of the upper echelon had left. The Lestranges, Mulciber, Yaxley, Crabbe, and Snape were in a safe house when Jugson appeared, accusing them all of treason.

"Not one! We never lost one! And the moment you show up the whole cell is gone! One of you led them to us!"

"Virgil, please," Rabastan entreated. "This was an unfortunate coincidence. We've had some bad luck, but no one here is a traitor."

"No?" Jugson challenged. "If Macnair was still here I might believe you – I'm surprised the lot of you survived with him among you – but he's gone. You forget. For the last year I was assigned to Enforcement in the Ministry. I know how they do things. Macnair's had a trace on him for years, and I wouldn't have let him near my people. But one of you has a trace as well, and I'm going to find out who!"

"Virgil, do you really think…" Rabastan started, but Jugson cut him off.

"We don't have time. They may be coming now to pick us up. " He raised his wand. "This is what you learn when you have access to auror files." Rotating the wand in a circle above his head, Jugson cried, _"Vestigium deprendo!"_

Snape gasped in pain and clutched his shoulder where the trace that Robards had planted flared in sudden fire. He was seized at once by the Lestrange brothers, while Jugson ripped open the front of his jacket and shirt to reveal the glow under the skin where the trace was. "Does everyone know the safe house in Brighton?" Jugson asked, placing his wand against Snape's skin at the point where the trace had entered. When they all nodded, Jugson ordered, "Go there now, at least five separate jumps. We'll be right behind you. Go! Now! They may be on their way."

As Yaxley, Crabbe, and Mulciber popped out of the room, Jugson's wand extracted a tiny needle from Snape's shoulder. Jugson let it fall to the floor. Rabastan removed Snape's wand from his sleeve. "Do you want to take him, or should I?" Rabastan asked.

"I'll do it," Jugson replied. "You get out of here." Rabastan and Rodolphus left. To Snape, Jugson said, "Right now we don't know, but if you try to run, I'll know and I'll kill you. Understood." Snape nodded, and Jugson apparated the two of them through five wrenching jumps, each time moving fifty feet from the arrival point to disapparate again, until they were in the Brighton safe house.

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Since Harry now had the miniature of Dumbledore, it was easiest for Robards to come to the Burrow rather than have the others go to Hogwarts. He brought sobering news.

"They know. At least they found the trace and removed it. It was on the floor of the last place they were in. The only hopeful sign is that they didn't kill him right there."

"Hopeful indeed," said Dumbledore. "Severus has always had a talent for talking his way out of difficult situations. He can be quite creative when he is in danger. I suggest we act as if he is able to wriggle out of this one. I do know that my portrait seems to still be in his pocket, though I can see and hear nothing since it is closed. He may at some point be able to communicate with us."

"What about the girl – Ginny?"

"The spell that affected her was an accidental creation, Obliterate, so there is no counter curse as yet. That is one of the reasons why Severus would be so useful to us at the moment. You are not, by chance, a spell maker, are you Gawain?"

Robards shook his head. "Never been able to create even one. There are a couple of people at the Ministry who've come up with some small things, but we're still rebuilding the organization from the disruptions of the last year, and we're shorthanded. I need them to try to find Severus. I can assign them to work on the spell instead if you can honestly tell me that her situation is more important than Severus's. I wouldn't be able to guarantee that they'd find a counter curse, though."

Mrs. Weasley and George were at Fortescue's with Ginny, but Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Ron conferred together and were unanimous.

"Ginny seems stable and cheerful," said Mr. Weasley. "We can communicate a little, even though she can't talk to us. Severus's life could be in danger, and in any event he might be our best chance to get her back. Severus should come first."

"I agree," said Robards, and left to work on tracking down the seven Death Eaters. Every one else apparated to Fortescue's in the hope that maybe they could find a way to free Ginny. If Robards had any more news for them, he would contact them there.

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Snape sat restrained in a chair in the middle of the living room of the safe house, his wrists bound behind the chair's back. Jugson bent down, his hands on the arms of the chair so that the two were face to face.

"I don't see how you can't remember getting the trace," Jugson said softly. "Those things hurt when they go in, so an auror can't be given one without being aware of it. You must have felt it."

"Maybe they put it in while we were being held at the Ministry," Yaxley suggested. "They could have drugged him and given him the trace while he was unconscious."

"True," said Jugson, "but why put a trace in a prisoner being shipped to Azkaban? Unless they wanted him to escape so they could find the rest of us. But that would mean he was working for them, wouldn't it? So, Sev, let's trying jogging your memory again." He nodded to Rodolphus.

Rodolphus leaned forward and whispered, "Crucio." Snape's body jerked back involuntarily, and he cried out, but the pain lasted only a few seconds.

"Now," Jugson said sweetly, "are you sure you can't tell us when you got that trace? Because in my opinion, you're just not trying hard enough."

"Look, Severus," said Yaxley, "what about that time they almost got us in Plymouth? Didn't one of them stun you? And Macnair pulled you out? Maybe the one who betrayed us was Macnair – he was Ministry for years – but he didn't want to stay longer and risk us finding out, so he arranged for them to plant that thing on Severus, and then made sure Severus got away. When he went to look after the cell in Devon, he was running back to the Ministry."

"Nigel may be right," Snape said, deeply grateful for the unexpected help. "That spell hit me in the chest, right under that shoulder. Maybe that's why I didn't notice the trace going in, because the spell hurt so much."

"I don't think so," said Jugson. "I'm thinking maybe I just solved a puzzle. When the Dark Lord assigned me to Law Enforcement at the Ministry, I had access to our criminal files from the first time the Dark Lord was defeated, and yours was strange."

"Strange?" said Mulciber. "Strange how?"

"I've always been loy…" Snape started to say, but Jugson cast a silencing spell on him that clamped Snape's mouth shut and paralyzed his vocal chords.

"Well, there were those who were tried, found guilty, and sent to Azkaban, like Rabs and Dolph, and you, too, Al. Sometimes the file had a full transcript of the trial. Sometimes it was a summary. But the trial was always there. Then there were people like me and Nigel. Or Avery and Malfoy. We told a story about Imperius curses or death threats against our families, and they let us go back home. No trial. But dear little Severus here had no trial in his file, yet he was handed over to Dumbledore on probation – good behavior – like he'd been convicted but was being given a chance. At first I thought maybe it was because all he did was brew potions and invent spells, not go on raids, but now I'm wondering if there was a trial and it was hushed up because there was something top secret about it. Like being a spy. How did Dumbledore learn Potter's hearing at the Ministry'd been moved up, Potions Master? Did a little bird tell him? A little black-eyed bird?"

"I think you should just kill him," said Crabbe.

"I'm with Cecil," Rodolphus chimed in. "Slowly. We could take turns."

"I don't know," said Mulciber. "He might be more valuable alive. If he is working for the Ministry, do you think they'd buy him back?

"Money?" Rabastan asked.

Mulciber shook his head. "No. People. If they want him back reasonably healthy and in one piece, they send our people back. Everyone in Azkaban or in a holding cell at the Ministry."

Jugson grinned. "It's an idea, but how do we contact the Ministry without getting caught?"

"Through Dumbledore," Rabastan replied, and reached into Snape's jacket pocket for the portrait. "The portraits have to help the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. He hasn't been replaced, so the portraits have to do everything they can for him."

"Are you sure that thing won't lead them to us?" Jugson asked suspiciously.

"Yes," said Rabastan. "It's helped us before." He opened the picture. "Hey, Professor, your headmaster needs you."

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This time Shacklebolt and Robards apparated to Fortescue's.

"No," said Shacklebolt. "I am not going to release nearly seventy-five Death Eaters in exchange for one person. Severus knew the job was dangerous. He's known for years something like this could happen. Did you have a chance to see or talk to him?"

"They've Silenced him. I believe he's been tortured."

"You can't just leave him there," Harry insisted, and the others agreed. "Maybe they'll swap him for a smaller number of Death Eaters."

"Harry," said Robards, "the minute we start negotiating, they'll know for sure he worked for us. The best thing for him right now is for us to tell them to go ahead and kill him because we want him dead, too."

"I fear, Gawain," said Dumbledore, "that they will kill him if we turn them down. My impression from the conversation is that Rodolphus and Cecil are hoping you will say no. They have apparently not been getting along with Severus."

"There's nothing we can do except try to find them before they do. And even then, when we attack he'll probably be the first to go." Shacklebolt rose from the chair he'd been sitting on. "I'm sorry Albus. I know that you and Severus have worked together for many years, but this time his luck ran out. I regret losing him, but this is an offer we can't accept."

The Minister of Magic and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement apparated back to their offices.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked. "Do you have any suggestions, Professor Dumbledore?"

To everyone's great surprise, portrait Dumbledore clamped his mouth shut and refused to move or speak.

"Professor," Harry said, "we really need your advice."

The portrait gave no sign that it had heard.

"He can't," said Hermione softly. "He's trying to protect you."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you see, Harry, he has to do what's best for Professor Snape, for the Headmaster. At first, the best thing for Snape was to get rid of Voldemort. Then the best thing for Snape was to find and imprison all the other Death Eaters who'd go after him when it became public whose side he was always on. But now what's best for Professor Snape is probably not good for someone in this room, and if he talks he'll have to tell us what it is. So he won't say anything."

"Yeah," said Ron, "that sounds right. And I'm betting the someone in this room it isn't good for is you, Harry."

The same idea seemed to come to everyone in the room at the same time. "That's what I have to do," Harry murmured as if thinking out loud.

"Absolutely not!" cried Mrs. Weasley. "It's one thing for poor Severus who walked into it knowing he could be killed, and besides he's an experienced adult…"

"I'm an adult," countered Harry, "and I've had a lot of experience."

"No, mate, you are not…" George began, and Bill and Charlie were chiming in, too.

Mr. Weasley stopped them with a raised hand. "What about Ginny?" he asked. "What if Severus is the only one who can find a way to bring her back? If he dies, we may never see Ginny again."

It silenced the room. The issue was now a matter of at least three lives. It was at this juncture that the portrait of Albus Dumbledore began speaking again.

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The vibration of the portrait alerted Rabastan that there was incoming news. "Well?" he asked as he opened it. "What did they say?"

"The Ministry has no intention of releasing any prisoners in exchange for the man who murdered me," the portrait replied. "The Minister would not even stay to discuss the offer."

"That's it then," said Rodolphus. "Don't worry. You'll get another headmaster soon."

"There has, however," the portrait continued flatly, "been another offer."

Rabastan scowled. "I thought you said the Minister walked out."

"He did. This offer comes from Harry Potter."

The Death Eaters stared at each other. "What's Potter got to offer us, and why?" Mulciber asked.

"Himself. Because Severus was never working for the Ministry. Severus was working for me. The Ministry is quite willing to allow him to die rather than release captured Death Eaters. They might listen more carefully if the Death Eaters are being exchanged for the Chosen One. Take Harry, release Severus, and you might get at least part of what you want."

Ignoring Snape, who was kicking the legs of the chair that held him, the other Death Eaters conferred. "Severus for Potter," said Crabbe, his eyes gleaming tigerishly, "I'm for it. I don't agree to the prisoner exchange, but I'm for getting our hands on Potter."

"No," Rodolphus insisted. "What about me? What about Bella? Cecil gets Potter – what do I get?"

"I don't care one piece of owl dung about your private grudges," Jugson told both of them. "I say we take the offer and get my people back."

"You must agree," cautioned the portrait, "that Harry is to be held for the purpose of a prisoner exchange."

Jugson, Mulciber, Rabastan, and Yaxley concurred. Crabbe was willing to back down for the moment just to get Potter into his hands. Only Rodolphus was violently opposed to the idea, but his solitary opposition meant that they were stalemated.

Dumbledore was sent back to Potter with a counteroffer.

The only thing the portrait said when Dumbledore returned to Fortescue's was, "It is not enough." Then it once again refused to speak.

"It's me, isn't it?" Mrs. Weasley said after a moment. "Rodolphus Lestrange wants me."

"No!" was the instantaneous reaction of five Weasley boys, but Mr. Weasley was silent.

"That's it, isn't it, sir?" Harry asked Dumbledore. "They want Mrs. Weasley, too."

Dumbledore spoke now, since they had come up with the idea on their own. "Cecil wants you, Harry, and Rodolphus wants Molly. For them, it is revenge. The other four, however, want a prisoner exchange, especially Jugson, who seems to be leading the group at the moment. I can only advise you to agree because I must do what is best for Severus, but it looks as if the saner heads will prevail and that they will use you to get their own people back."

Then Mr. Weasley spoke. "We have also to think of Ginny. If offering myself would do any good, I would, but it isn't me they want. They want Molly. I couldn't choose. There are too many people involved that I love, and one man to whom we owe a great debt. If we could see the future, this would be easier. We can't, and so we have to make the hard choices. It seems to me that the only way we have even a chance of saving all four is if Harry and Molly get their way. I'm going to agree."

Mrs. Weasley put her arms around her husband and kissed him tenderly.

"Don't we get to vote?" Bill asked. "I think we should vote."

"Now you listen to me." Mrs. Weasley wagged her finger in her oldest son's face. "I bore you and I raised you, and I watched you make decisions about your own lives that I didn't agree with, but in the end you each got your own way in your own life. Now I get to make my own decision about my life. I've just lost a son, and I have my only daughter in limbo. The best chance to bring her back is to save a man who's taught every one of my children. I know Harry had his problems with Severus, but he was decent to all of my family. Percy even liked him. And now even Harry wants to help. I've been unpleasant to Severus all my life because I thought he might have had something to do with my brothers' deaths, and when it's almost too late I found out I've been misjudging him. Now I can help Ginny and make amends all at the same time, and the odds favor my getting out of it all right. So you go ahead and vote, but I'm going with Harry."

They voted then, and the vote was to let Mrs. Weasley decide what to do.

"There is a new offer," the portrait told Rabastan a few minutes later. "They have agreed to exchange Severus for both Harry Potter and Molly Weasley provided that you agree that Harry and Molly will be exchanged for comrades of yours currently in the custody of the Ministry of Magic. The rest of the Weasley family and their friends agree to assist you with your negotiations."

"That sounds good to me," said Jugson. "I'm for it."

"Me, too," said Mulciber, and the others nodded in concurrence. Both Crabbe and Rodolphus now had what they wanted, and both removed their objections.

"Where do we make the exchange?" Jugson asked. "I don't want them coming here."

"If I may," said the portrait, "a few days ago Severus consulted me about the location of a cave that your former master used for his own purposes. Harry knows the location of this cave since he accompanied me when I went there a year ago. It is just a suggestion. They are open to any suggestions of yours."

Rabastan describe the area around the cave to the others, and all agreed it seemed like a good idea. "We'll need some kind of boat, though," said Rabastan, "and it has to be low tide."

Snape was of no help whatsoever since all he would do was rant against the agreement and insist that neither Potter nor the Weasley woman was trustworthy. It didn't take the others long before they discounted anything he said and cast a Petrificus Totalis on him. Then they talked to Dumbledore about inflatable rafts since Dumbledore could at least be guaranteed to do and say things that would help Snape, and would therefore not try to scuttle the idea.

By this time it was early evening, around six o'clock. "Tomorrow morning around eight o'clock," Dumbledore told Jugson, "there will be a tide low enough to enter the cavern. Will you agree to meet there at that time for the exchange?"

"Done," Jugson told him. They broke off contact. Mulciber and Yaxley were assigned to get some kind of boat or rubber raft from a muggle sporting goods store. The paralyzed Snape was carted into another room and laid, not exactly gently, but not roughly either, on the floor.

Though incapable of movement, Snape was still, of course, capable of thought. He was horrified at the danger that Harry and Molly were going into, but he could still concentrate on one bright spot of hope. His former comrades had grown up with the idea that each wizard had one unique wand. When they took his, they had not thought to search him further. If ever there were a moment when he was both unwatched and free to move, there were, hidden in the lining of his jacket, the two extra wands he had taken from the Birmingham headquarters nearly a week before.

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"Let me get this straight," Robards said. "They know Severus is a traitor, but they're willing to trade him for Harry and Molly so that they can trade Harry and Molly for their own people. You know we'll never go along with that. Not even Harry is worth seventy-five Death Eaters."

"Yes, but Gawain, they have agreed to hold the exchange in the cave."

"At low tide tomorrow morning at eight o'clock."

The portrait narrowed its eyes. "What time is it, Gawain?"

"About six thirty."

"Gawain Robards, you poor excuse for a law enforcement officer, tides run on twelve hour cycles. Yes, the tide will be low enough to enter the cave at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, but it will be a rising tide. A half hour or so later, and the Death Eaters will be trapped in the cave. Right now, more than twelve hours earlier, the tide is even lower. You have plenty of time to get your people into that cave either now, or tomorrow morning between four o'clock and seven o'clock. The point is that they can be there waiting. It would be good if Severus were out before your people attacked, since he is the one they all want dead, and he is unarmed. Harry and Molly will at least be prepared and ready to protect themselves. I just want your people waiting in the cave to take them."

"What if they double cross you and don't release Severus?"

"By eight thirty the tide will have risen to the point where they will not be able to get away. It will be unfortunate should Severus or anyone else die, but you will be able to capture the remaining Death Eaters and remove this scourge from the wizarding world."

"And you're sure they can't disapparate?"

"There is too much old magic there. Apparation is not an option."

"Thank you, Albus. My people will be in position in the rear cavern, waiting for them."

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There was dissent among the Death Eaters the following morning. It involved what to do about Snape. Crabbe had been practicing Cruciatus curses, and Mulciber had been refining his joint and cartilage work, but both were getting a bit bored, especially since Snape kept fainting.

"I don't see why we can't just kill him," Crabbe said. "Potter and Weasley've agreed to come, so why do we need him?"

"Cecil," said Jugson with ill-concealed impatience, "the portrait serves the Headmaster. If the Headmaster's killed, the portrait will know instantly. If we kill Severus now, Dumbledore will tell them not to meet us."

"Oh," said Crabbe.

It was Rodolphus who came up with the idea to arrive early and be waiting for Potter and Weasley. It made the exchange more of an ambush, and the others readily agreed. Rabastan took Jugson out to the rock in the sea at seven o'clock. They went back for Crabbe and Rodolphus, inflated a raft, and sent them into the cave. Then they got Yaxley and Mulciber, who went in with another raft and came out with both, the muggle rafts being easy to maneuver with magic. Finally Jugson went back for the very groggy Snape who had again been given a Petrificus Totalis.

By seven thirty, the whole group was in the cave. Crabbe had been exploring and was talking about big cracks that went down. The Lestranges were cold and started a couple of fires that burned only faintly due to the magical inhibition of the cave. Snape's Petrificus had been changed to a Locomotor Mortis, but Mulciber was watching him to be sure he didn't move too much. Yaxley watched the sea entrance to the cave. Jugson paced, warmed himself at the fire, nudged the prostrate Snape with the toe of his boot, and listened to Crabbe's stories.

They had half an hour to go, and were already tired of waiting.

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Molly Weasley was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and lightweight tennis shoes. This was to make swimming easier for her since she and Harry didn't have inflatable rubber rafts. What they had was Hagrid, who was to see that they got into the cave safely, but not show himself to the Death Eaters at all. Hagrid was backup.

Harry was fidgeting. He'd positioned himself by the kitchen window, which was partly obscured by Molly's cooking herbs, large plants and small, that Harry kept picking up and putting down in an absentminded sort of way.

Hagrid arrived at seven forty-five. He'd already been to the rock and the cave, and so didn't need help getting there. At seven forty-eight, Hagrid apparated. At seven fifty-three, Harry apparated with Molly going side-along. At seven fifty-nine, Hagrid was swimming towards the narrow opening in the Pembrokeshire cliffs that led to the enchanted cave. His whole concern was to see that Harry Potter and Molly Weasley made it safely to the cave inside.

Harry reached the steps that led up to the first cavern before Mrs. Weasley, and turned to help her out of the water. Mulciber was next to him almost immediately, wand drawn. Jugson stood a ways beyond, ready to help Mulciber.

"Give me your wands," Mulciber told Harry. "Yours and the woman's."

Harry obeyed at once and, because the two were expecting to enter enemy territory, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange stepped forward to search them for extra wands or offensive and defensive devices they might have brought with them.

"Clean," Rabastan pronounced, then directed the two, "Go over there and sit with your traitor friend."

Snape lay against the wall of the cave, his wrists bound in front of him and his legs immobilized by the Locomotor Mortis spell. Harry and Molly sat beside him under the gaze of Yaxley.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, as he settled on the cold stone.

"I was until you showed up," Snape replied. "What kind of idiot idea was this, wanting to exchange yourself for me, and bringing the mother of six potential orphans with you to do it?"

"You're welcome," said Molly. "I'm beginning to sympathize with your students already."

"Considering the students you've inflicted on me," Snape said, "you should be apologizing."

"Shh," Harry hissed. "What's happening now? Aren't they supposed to be letting you go?"

"And you believed them? I've sold bridges in New York to people swifter on the uptake than you."

"Dumbledore said they were torturing you."

Snape was suddenly silent. Harry and Molly turned simultaneously to look at him. Snape's face was drawn with exhaustion, dark circles around his eyes.

"It's true then," Harry said.

"I'm sorry," Snape murmured, trying to keep his voice steady, "I can't do this anymore. I'm… too tired. I just want to die…"

"It's okay," Harry told him as Molly patted his bound hands. "We're here to get you out."

Further inside the cave, the Death Eaters were arguing. Rodolphus and Crabbe wanted to kill all three prisoners. Jugson and Mulciber were insisting that in order to bargain in good faith over Harry and Molly, they had to let Snape go. Rabastan was caught in the middle, wanting to support and restrain his brother at the same time. Nearer to the prisoners, Yaxley watched without commenting.

Long minutes passed with the argument rising and falling in volume and intensity. Then, with the suddenness of summer lightning or the sharp, preliminary jolt of an earthquake, a door in the cave wall opened and half a dozen aurors spilled out, wands shooting immobilizing spells.

Crabbe moved immediately. Wand in hand he pelted back towards the prisoners, grabbed Potter by the arm, and shoved him away from the conflict. "Move!" he screamed, hitting the boy with a series of painful prodding spells. Potter was driven in front of him, toward the steps that were rapidly being submerged in the rising tide.

The Lestranges, Jugson, Mulciber, and Yaxley, warned by the groan of moving stone that signaled the aurors' attack, had dived to avoid the spells (a skill taught to all of them years ago by a much younger Snape) and were now fighting back. From the water, Hagrid roared up in wrath to protect Molly Weasley.

Snape, finally unobserved in the moment of surprise, moved quickly to unbutton his jacket and rip open the lining at the side under the left sleeve. Grasping one of the hidden wands awkwardly, he managed to point it at his legs and say, "Liberacorpus!" The next spell was to unbind his hands, and then he was scrambling onto stiff, unresponding legs to follow where Cecil Crabbe had taken Harry.

Past the now submerged water steps, there was a fissure in the wall of the cave. Leaving the sound of wand battle behind him, Snape edged his way through the narrow cleft in the rock, noting as he did so that the water of the rising tide was already boiling around his ankles in a swift, angry stream from the relative safety of the cave above into the lower level of the cavern he was entering.

Away from the glow of the Lestranges' fire, Snape lit a Lumos spell with one of the wands.

The cavern Snape entered at the bottom of the fissure was about two hundred feet long, but only around thirty feet wide. The rough, fragmented walls angled up to an even narrower ceiling that was just about a foot above Snape's head. Dimly, at the far end of the cavern, Snape could see Crabbe wrestling with Potter. Around him water was quickly spreading over the floor from the ever-increasing stream that poured into the fissure from above.

Aiming carefully with the second wand, Snape sent a nonverbal stunning spell at Crabbe, but the wand was one he'd never used before, and the cave was full of ancient magic. The wand pulled right, and the spell smashed into the rock next to Crabbe's head, exploding into uncharacteristic and impotent sparks. Crabbe whirled, furious, and shot an answering stunner that Snape dove to avoid. The spell struck the water and created a tiny, momentary waterspout.

Even as he hit the ground rolling, Snape aimed a Confundus at Crabbe, but the spell was deflected by a shield. It did, however, have the effect of separating Crabbe from Potter. Potter scurried out of Crabbe's reach, giving Snape the freedom to fight without worrying about hitting the boy.

That Crabbe was fighting with his own wand, and Snape with one that was totally unfamiliar, gave the advantage to Crabbe, and for several minutes Snape fought a purely defensive duel, shielding himself from Crabbe's frenzied attacks as he tried to maneuver so that he could get nearer to Potter. It put Crabbe closer to the fissure leading out, but there was no help for it. What concerned Snape more was that the spells that missed his shields were behaving bizarrely, showering fireworks, or sending fat globs of sticky goo to crawl up the stone. He could only imagine that it had something to do with the distorting effect of the old magic.

Stunners, confounders, cutting and slamming spells, ricocheted off shields and pounded the stone walls, littering the area with phantom spells, sparks, and rumbling sound effects from the distortion. Finding himself between Crabbe and Potter, Snape pointed up and cried, "Lux Perpetuum!" flooding the cavern with light far beyond what a tiny Lumos could provide, then tossed his wand behind him. Potter sprang forward and grabbed the wand before it could drop into the water that had risen to above their ankles. Armed now, Harry moved forward with the new, untried wand to stand shoulder to shoulder with Snape in the narrow cavern, while Snape drew the other spare from his jacket.

Outnumbered, Crabbe began a rapid fire of killing curses. Unable to block them, Snape and Harry dodged and dove, as the Avada Kedavras slammed past them, smashing rock and sending fragments of stone flying around the cavern. One piece of rock struck Snape in the temple, sending him staggering backwards, momentarily defenseless. Harry's flying tackle knocked him out of the way of the next killing curse, which hit the rock behind the spot where Snape had been standing an instant before. The two fell with a splash into water that now reached their knees.

That spell bounced back across the cavern, smashing into the opposite wall and rebounding upward to strike the ceiling of rock just above Crabbe's head. Broken stone poured down on the luckless Crabbe, large chunks of rock that crashed around him. He threw up his arms to protect his head, but it was futile, his shield crumpling like cellophane. The falling stone crushed his skull, and Crabbe fell sideways into the knee-deep pool that now covered the floor of the cavern.

Snape and Harry struggled to their feet in the icy water. Where Crabbe had gone down, a red stain was spreading and dissolving in the rising tide. The two wizards waded through the flood to the fissure that was their only way out, only to find it was no passage but a rushing torrent of water that poured down from a tidal pool that was far above their heads. Snape tried several spells to block the onslaught of water, none of them successful. A glance at the walls around them made it clear that at high tide, this chamber was completely flooded.

"Search the cave!" Snape yelled at Harry. "See if there's any other way out!"

Wands lit, water edging up toward their waists, Snape and Harry began a probe of every inch of wall in the cave, seeking a crack, a fissure, a crevice that would take them up above the level of the high tide. Two thirds of the way along the wall, Harry called from his side, "There's something here!"

Snape struggled over to Harry. The crack was more than wide enough at this end for a grown man to crawl into, but there was no way to tell if it narrowed farther up. Nor was there any way to tell how far it went. For all they knew, it was a death trap. But then, the entire chamber was a death trap.

Harry backed away, shaking his head, and tried a Bubble-Head Charm. The sides of the bubble collapsed and tried to strangle him. "I guess it's our only choice," he said, and his raised voice did not sound happy.

"You first," Snape shouted at Harry over the boiling of the tide. "Get in there, now!" Harry didn't argue, but held his lit wand in his teeth and began to climb the jagged walls of the crevice that led up at a steep angle from the floor of the cavern, Snape right behind him.

Foot by slow, desperate foot they climbed, faster now than the tide, but the tide had more than an hour yet to run. Or did it? Snape realized that he had no idea how long they'd been in the two caves, first listening to the arguing Death Eaters and then fighting Crabbe. The crevice did narrow, so that they had to squeeze themselves through, and in struggling for each foot, for each inch, Snape lost track in the dimness of the Lumos spells of how high they may have climbed. Twelve feet? Fifteen? He had no idea how high the water would rise.

Suddenly Harry wasn't moving anymore. He'd reached something like a little ledge and hauled himself onto it, his legs curled under him, and then he stopped. "It doesn't go any farther," he said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the tiny space. "This is as far as we get."

"Is there any room next to you?" Snape asked. He was having trouble finding purchase for his feet to support him. Where he was, the crevice angled at about forty-five degrees, but he still had to struggle to keep from slipping back.

"A little," Harry replied. He held his wand up at shoulder height where he crouched on the small ledge. There really wasn't any more room unless Snape lay the upper part of his body across Harry's bent knees. Snape twisted and squirmed, trying to pull himself up a little higher.

"Oh no!" Snape gasped sharply as an all-too-familiar coldness engulfed his feet. "The water's still rising!"

"Get up!" Harry screamed. He shifted his own position, kicking Snape as he moved, but managing to get his feet off the ledge to give Snape more room for his head and upper body. There, huddled into a space as tiny as a coffin, the two wizards waited to see how high the invading water would continue to climb.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 8**

The water rose past Snape's knees, and then stopped, though it took several minutes for Snape and Harry to be sure that there was no more movement. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, for he could keep his feet dry by drawing up his knees and propping his feet on the wall of rock facing him, but Snape, lower and still lying partly in the cold water, had no such advantage. Already the chill was affecting his ability to move his legs.

"How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" Harry asked after a while.

It was a question Snape didn't want to address, for the realization of another, insurmountable problem had intruded into his consciousness, and he didn't want to think about it. "A lot longer than it took us to get up here," he replied, then steeled himself for the inevitable. "Several hours, in fact. The water will only go down at the rate the tide goes down, and there's about six hours between high tide and low tide."

"Oh," Harry said. They were silent for a while, Snape trying to decide how to break the next piece of news.

"Harry," he said finally, and his voice was unusually soft, not a threatening kind of soft, but truly soft.

"Sir?" Harry replied.

"This space, it's too small. There isn't enough air for six hours."

Harry became very still. "Does that mean we're going to die?" he asked at last.

"It looks that way."

A longer silence, and then Harry spoke again. "Isn't there oxygen in the water? Could we do something to get oxygen out of the water?"

"No," said Snape, "and even if we could, we'd also be producing hydrogen – worse than what we have now."

"What makes the oxygen we breathe?"

Snape thought for a moment about wizarding teenagers who knew nothing of rainforests or global warming. "Plants," he said. "They take in carbon dioxide and give off oxygen."

"I have a plant," Harry said.

"That's nice," Snape replied.

"No, I mean right now. In my pocket."

The silence this time had a different quality to it. "Why do you have a plant in your pocket?" Snape asked after a moment.

"Mrs. Weasley has these little pots in her kitchen for special herbs, and I was fooling around with them this morning. When Hagrid came, I had one in my hand. I just shoved it in my pocket. Kind of a dumb thing to do, I guess."

"Not really," said Snape. "What kind is it?"

Harry had to shift his position to get his hand into his jacket pocket, Snape slipping down more into the water to give Harry more room. The plant was in a tiny pot, and consisted of many curved and twisted thread-like branches with minuscule leaves.

"It looks like a kind of thyme," said Snape. "It also looks like you may have killed it."

"We had to swim through the sea. I guess it drowned in the seawater. It does look kind of bedraggled, doesn't it?"

"Put it on the ledge."

Harry did as he was told, and provided the Lumos spell while Snape worked on the tiny thyme plant. Both wizards had slight headaches, a sign that the concentration of carbon dioxide was getting too high. Snape was struggling to remember spells that he and Sprout had developed over the years. Plant altering spells were useless in the long term, but could produce needed effects in the short term. Six hours was definitely within the limits of what was considered short term.

After lowering the salinity a bit and siphoning off the truly excessive water, Snape touched the plant with the tip of his wand and said, "Verna!" The little plant seemed to gain energy, and new, tiny leaves started to sprout on its thin branches. Then Snape circled the plant with his wand and intoned, "Oxygenium progenera!" There was no noticeable change.

"Did it work?" Harry asked.

Snape waited before he answered. The fogginess in his brain was clearing, the headache becoming less intense. "Yes," he said. "I think it worked."

The thyme plant, in fact, worked remarkably well. The Verna spell allowed the plant to grow larger, and the Oxygenium Progenera turned it into an oxygen-making factory. Those were the spells Snape had worked on before with Sprout. Now he also tried creating a new one that would improve their situation. Harry maintained a constant Lumos spell while Snape worked on wave length modifications to get a spectrum of light that the plant could utilize more efficiently. Their breathing provided carbon dioxide, and with a salt removing charm, the tide itself provided water.

By the time he'd refined the new spell enough to teach it to Harry, Snape's teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and he was shaking with the cold. Worse, he could no longer feel his feet. Harry pushed himself as far into his corner as he could, ignoring the rocks that poked into his sides, and got an arm around Snape's body to pull him up onto the ledge a few more inches, since Snape was no longer able to push with his numb legs. Harry cast a drying spell on as much of their clothing as he could, which helped some, and with his head and shoulders on Harry's lap, Snape was a little less cold.

After a while, Harry said, "Your face looked different."

"What do you mean?"

"When you were making the spell. It was like you were completely focused on what you were doing. Like you were concentrating – concentrated, down into the essence of that spell. Like there was nothing else in the world that was important at that moment but the plant, the wand, and your eyes watching them. You didn't look angry at all. You looked… young."

"Wonderful," Snape commented, his head turned toward Harry's shoes, neither at this point being able to shift position so as to see the other's face. "I need a foot in the grave to look young. And what is this about angry? You were at Hogwarts six full years, Potter. You've seen me many times when I wasn't angry."

"Maybe, but there was no way to tell from your face. You always looked angry."

"It is the unavoidable effect students have on teachers."

"Not all teachers. Professor McGonagall now, she's often pleasant. You can always tell by her face if she's pleased or upset."

"Don't be so sure, O Connoisseur of the Human Race. Do you know that expression she has where her mouth purses small, her chin and jaw tighten, and her eyes narrow."

"Do I! All Gryffindor stays clear of her when she gets that irritated…"

"That expression means she's trying very hard not to laugh."

"No! But that's the expression she wears at the high table when she's talking to… Have you ever seen Professor McGonagall laugh, sir? I never have."

"It is a phenomenon that only occurs when she is amongst her peers."

A period of silence ensued. Then… "You've been making spells ever since you were a kid, haven't you, Professor?"

"You should know. You were looking at my old Potions book."

"Could you teach me to do that?"

"It would need more than six hours. Let us take one step at a time."

"After we're out of here, I'm going to ask you again."

"Are you so sure? That we're getting out, I mean."

"Why not? We have air now. What else do we really need? It's only six hours." Snape was silent, but Harry could feel the shudder that ran through his body. "What's wrong, sir?" he asked the older wizard. "Are you all right?"

"Harry, I've never been this cold in my life. It's as if half of me doesn't exist anymore. If it should come to it, I order you to use any spell necessary to remove obstacles from your way out. The incantation for a body is 'Evanesco mortuum.' Do you understand?"

"You're not going to die!"

"I fear that is not within your power to control."

There was another silence. Then Harry asked, "Were you older or younger than my mom?"

Snape tensed, then relaxed. "I was exactly three weeks older. To the day. If my birthday was on a Sunday, then hers was on a Sunday."

"Did you have birthday parties?"

"She would bring me a little cake, just enough for two to eat."

"What did you do on her birthday?"

A pause. "I was no position to do anything on her birthday except wish her well."

"Why was that?" Harry said, and immediately withdrew the question. "I'm sorry. I have no right to ask you that."

"That's all right," Snape said quietly. "You're too young. It's a different world. Our problem was that she was management, and I was labor."

"Say again?"

"Her father had been the supervisor at the mill where my father was a common mill hand. The likes of her didn't associate with the likes of me."

Harry didn't recognize the movie reference that allowed Snape to distance himself from the emotional import of this statement. Instead he thought of Winchester. "That's what Aunt Petunia was talking about. You mean it was a matter of social class, not wizardry in the muggle world?"

Snape barked a short, sharp laugh. "Once Lily got her Hogwarts letter, Petunia practically fell on top of herself trying to get in, too. She hated me for social reasons – I was from the wrong side of the river. She hated Lily out of jealousy. Lily was a witch – Petunia wasn't. I suppose…" Snape paused, but it was probably the last chance he would have to say it. "I suppose I would have preferred being hated for a wizard than being hated for a coal miner's son."

Harry started to reply, but his response was cut off by his shock at what he saw. "Professor," he cried, "Look at your trousers!"

"I am not going to get into a discussion about my tailor!"

"No! Professor, I dried our clothes about, I don't know… a half hour ago. But there's six inches of wet cloth above the water line. I think the water's going down!"

Ever afterwards Snape blamed the effect of too much carbon dioxide on his inability to realize what would happen. Of course it would be six hours between high tide and low tide, but during those six hours the water would be in slow but constant recession. About two feet an hour. His body would not be submerged in icy water for six hours, but for less than two. Already the water was down to his knees.

The world was beginning to look good again.

Harry cast another drying spell, and slowly Snape began to regain feeling in his thighs and around his knees. He and Harry watched with avid attention the slow retreat of the water, though it would be hours before they could move. Harry, of course, still had questions to occupy the lingering passage of time.

"So when did you and my mom first start to talk to each other?"

"The summer after we turned nine."

"Who initiated it? You or her?"

"I hope you don't have such a low opinion of your mother as to suspect that she would seek out the company of a social inferior."

"That's a terrible thing to say!"

"Welcome to the world of the sixties."

"What made you want to talk to her."

"She made a dropped pen jump back into her hand. She was a witch."

"What did your friends think about her?"

Silence that Harry didn't know how to interpret reverberated off the walls. "That was the wrong question, I guess," he said.

"You made an assumption," Snape replied. "Unwarranted, as it turns out."

"You didn't want me wandering around your home. That old lady, Mrs. Hanson…"

"You will be respectful when you speak of Mrs. Hanson!"

"Okay! That… lady, Mrs. Hanson, didn't know you were a wizard. How many witches and wizards lived in your town?"

"My mother, myself, and a muggle-born witch named Lily Evans."

"You didn't have any friends, did you?"

"You are begging for that patronizing tone to be washed out of your mouth, Potter! Your precious grandfather, Harry Evans, was only as good as the men he supervised. That great lump Dursley who raised you would never have been successful but for his workers. And you, you elitist prig, have ignored the rank and file since the day you walked into Hogwarts!"

"I'm not an elitist!"

"No?" At that moment, Snape would have liked to be able to see Harry's face. "Name all five Slytherin boys in your year."

"That's easy," said Harry. "Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle." He paused. "Zabini… and Nott."

"Good. Now, name all five Slytherin girls."

"Parkinson, Bulstrode…" Harry stopped. Snape waited but Harry didn't continue. "I don't know," he finally admitted.

"Yet every week of the school year for five years you sat in the same Double Potions class with the same twenty students. Twenty names, Potter. Yet you know first the people that you want to be friends with, second the people that you consider your enemies, and there is no third because no one else matters. Who are Granger's dorm mates?"

Harry didn't answer because saying the two names that came to mind would only prove Snape's point. "How many friends did you have in school," he challenged.

"One, but after second year I associated with most people, and I knew all their names."

"I don't see how this makes me elitist. And what assumption did I make that was so awful?" Snape didn't answer, but he seemed to have gotten smaller somehow, shrinking in on himself. It reminded Harry of the exchange with Mrs. Weasley when they'd first arrived in the cave, and how it had ended. "I know you're tired, Professor," he said quietly. "But we're going to be all right. Just a few more hours and then you can rest. And be warm. And I'm going to have a treacle tart. What would you like once we're out of here?"

Snape shifted stiff, aching muscles. "A cup of tea and a hot buttered scone. Harry, I know your life hasn't been easy, I saw the images, but even though I've never been there, I know the kind of house you grew up in – paved streets, a front lawn and a back garden, a garage to put a car in, a television in the front room, and every one of your neighbors worked in an office. I…"

"Yeah. I saw, remember?"

"The assumption was that working class families with children in a small mill town stay in that town after the mill closes and the jobs disappear."

"Nobody?"

"Not that side of the river. Only a school on the other side, full of Petunias."

Again the two were quiet. Snape even dozed, a fact that made Harry feel oddly protective. He was drifting himself, thinking of Ginny in a mirror, when he noticed something that jolted him awake and had him shaking Snape's arm.

"Professor? Professor! The water's gone down so far I can't see it anymore!"

Snape was awake at once. "Good," he said. "I'm going to see how far down I can go."

"I'm coming, too."

"You'll do no such thing. You think I want you slipping and coming down with your feet on the top of my head? Your job is to stay here and give me light."

The first part was hard… terribly hard. His whole body stiff from the long motionless hours and the cold, Snape had trouble easing himself from the ledge and trying to twist his way back through the narrow crevice. About four feet down, he was stuck, his jacket snagged on a protruding rock Crawling back up a couple of feet, he told Harry to direct a Lumos spell at the offending rock while Snape carefully chipped it away until the spot was smooth. Then he started down again.

Another couple of feet, and the crevice widened enough so that Snape could turn and look down. The light from his wand showed the smooth, mirror surface of water. "It's not empty yet," he called back to Harry. "I'm going into the water to test how deep it is."

Slowly, carefully, Snape lowered himself into the icy pool, making sure at every step that he positioned his feet so that he could push himself back if it was too deep. Waist deep… chest deep… Snape took one more step, and he was standing at the bottom, shoulder deep in water.

He didn't remember having to duck down to enter the crevice. Using his hands to steady himself, Snape turned, removed the wand from his teeth, and stretched out his hand. Around him the Lumos spell shone ghastly green on the surface of the water, stretching out to the glistening walls dozens of feet away.

"It's all right, Harry!" Snape called back up to the ledge where the other wizard waited. "It's low enough so our heads are above water. You can come down now!"

Harry's descent was considerably faster than Snape's had been.

The two wizards stood side by side, gazing over the expanse of water. They could see the wall opposite them, but the Lumos spells were too dim to see the ends.

"Which way?" Harry asked. "We've got to get out of this water. It's freezing."

"We were moving away from the entrance because that was where the water was coming in. When you found this way up, I crossed to my right to join you so… we go left now."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Stay next to the wall. It will help us keep to the right direction, and Crabbe brought down a ton of rock in the middle. We don't want to hit that."

They set out, Harry in the lead. Walking, it would have been a short distance. Pushing their way through chest-high, icy water was a daunting task. After a few minutes, Harry realized he'd left Snape behind. He went back, wand held high. He could see at once that the older wizard was in trouble, each slow step taking enormous effort. The Lumos spell was deceptive, casting a sickly greenish light on everything, yet it seemed to Harry that Snape really did look ill.

"Keep next to the wall," Harry commanded, "I'm going to assist you on the other side." As he stepped to Snape's right and placed his arm around Snape's waist, it bothered Harry that there was no move to resist or object. For several more minutes they staggered forward together, Harry supporting and encouraging Snape, until they could finally see the fissure leading up to the first cave. At that point, Snape insisted they pause.

"Harry, this is very important. When we left the others, there was a battle commencing and the tide rising. It's likely that it trapped them up there just as it trapped us. We don't know what happened and we don't know who's in charge. There are aurors up there who don't know about me, and neither you nor I know what might still be happening outside. Whatever occurs, play along with it. We preserve the status quo until we learn that it's all right to change it. Do you understand?"

"I won't let them kill you."

"They won't want to. When we reach the fissure, it would be best if you went first. You're the one everybody else is least likely to want to shoot."

Harry nodded in agreement, and they continued together until they stood before the narrow opening. By now the water had receded to waist deep and movement was marginally easier. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Harry asked. "Because if you're not right behind me, I'm coming back for you." Then he turned and started climbing to the water steps and the first cave.

Snape waited a moment, then slowly followed Harry up. Above he heard first a man's voice say, "There's a light over there," and then Molly Weasley's shriek of "Harry! Harry! Thank Merlin! We thought you were dead!" Footsteps rang out, Hagrid was bellowing, "Harry! Y're all right!" Snape extinguished his wand and, almost invisible in his black clothes, stepped out of the fissure to see a larger group of people hugging Harry and patting him on the back than he had expected. Beyond, the other Death Eaters sat along the wall of the cave, bound and clearly prisoners. Rodolphus was not among them. Snape looked further and thought he could make out a still form even farther back, its face covered by a cloak.

"There's another one!" an auror cried, and Snape himself was suddenly the center of less affectionate attention. Several aurors hurried over to bind his wrists, remove his wand, and hustle him toward the rest of the prisoners. Molly moved forward to protest, but Harry held her back. This was Snape's game, and Harry was going to let Snape play it.

"No, Frobisher," said a familiar voice to his lieutenant in the cave, and Robards left the group around Harry. He looked stonily at the soaked and thoroughly bedraggled Snape. "We were wondering where you'd crawled off to. You've got me curious on two counts now, why your friends were trying to sell us a piece of slime like you, and why you didn't drown like a rat. Where's the last one, Crabbe?"

"He's dead, too." Harry said. "He's back in the lower cavern."

"Sir," Frobisher said, "We were missing Harry Potter for about five hours. Someone trapped in a tidal cave that long should have a healer check him."

"We'll send him out in the first boat," said Robards. "Come on, Harry, Molly. You'll have to swim, Hagrid. We don't have anything big enough for you." That was when Snape noticed a number of small boats in the water at the foot of the steps.

Harry approached Robards, "Sir," he whispered, "Professor Snape needs a healer a lot more than I do."

"Got it," Robards replied. He walked back toward the aurors. "I'm taking Snape with me. We'll want to interrogate him first. I don't think he's in any shape to be dangerous. Put him in the first boat. Harry and Jordan can handle him."

The aurors pulled Snape around and to the boat, where they hoisted him in and laid him in the bottom, between Harry's and Molly's feet, since there was no room on the benches, and it was clear he would be more comfortable lying down than sitting in any case. The last person in that first boat was Robards, who trusted his people to clean things up, and needed to talk to Harry and Snape about what had happened.

When the boat arrived at the rock, Robards sent Jordan first to apparate with Snape. To the others he said, "Molly, I know you want to go to Fortescue's to be with Ginny. Harry and Hagrid, I'd like you to meet me at Hogwarts. I'm going to take Snape for interrogation, but we'll really be coming to Hogwarts as quickly as I can. I think he'll do better there. Nobody will question if I want to keep a prisoner incommunicado. Molly, I know you want Snape to try to free Ginny as soon as possible, but I'm going to insist he be treated by a healer first."

"We can wait," Molly said. "Don't take too long."

Molly went first, then Harry, then Hagrid, Harry to visit Madam Pomfrey, and Hagrid to wait for Robards and Snape at the gate.

Robards apparated to the room near his office, the only spot in the Ministry of Magic where apparation was possible. After a quick floo message to Shacklebolt, he opened a drawer in his desk to extract Snape's own, personal wand, then headed in what might be described as a calm hurry to the holding area where Snape would be taken. The two arrived at almost exactly the same time. A few minutes later, Jordan arrived with Snape.

"Don't take him in there," Robards told Jordan. "The minute he steps into the holding area, we have to record his arrival and presence. I'd prefer that not happen, and the Minister concurs. We'll take the prisoner from here." Jordan looked confused, but Robards added, "Albus Dumbledore was a good friend of the Minister's."

Jordan smiled then, and handed Robards the wand taken from Snape. "Enjoy yourselves," he said.

Robards and Shacklebolt got Snape to the apparating chamber. "Are you going to be able to take another apparation, Severus?" Shacklebolt asked. Snape nodded, and the two of them, immediately followed by Robards, jumped to the area right in front of the Hogwarts gate.

Madam Pomfrey was there with a stretcher. She clucked like an angry hen as they laid the now groggy Snape on it. "Between treating him for what that lord of his did to him," she muttered, "and treating him for what you do to him, it's a wonder there's anything left there to treat at all."

Harry was already in the infirmary, and had gone so far as to change into hospital garb and climb into a warm, soft bed where the house-elves were feeding him treacle tart. Snape was now the center of medical attention, and Harry was content that it be so. He was more than a little concerned, when they brought the stretcher in, that Snape appeared to be unconscious.

Shooing the Minister of Magic and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement away with the accusation, "Can't even think to give a man drenched to the skin and suffering from hypothermia a drying spell!" Madam Pomfrey summoned privacy screens and soon had Snape stripped of his soaked clothing and in hospital garb as well. Two of the house-elves were set to heating bricks which, wrapped in towels, were put into the bed covers around Snape to provide him with a cocoon of warm air. All the while, she checked vital signs. After about fifteen minutes, she came over to Harry. "How are you feeling now, Master Potter? Better, I hope."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey. I ache a little, but I've stopped feeling cold. Quite comfortable in fact."

"Then you won't mind my asking about Professor Snape. What's happened to him in the past twenty-four hours or so?" Shacklebolt and Robards moved to Harry's bedside, and together they told her.

"So he's probably been tortured. We can assume Cruciatus. Thank goodness it wasn't Macnair. Walden always went for the internal organs. My preliminary check indicates damage to the joints which I thought might be due to the cold water and the strain from the cave, but I'll keep in mind it could have been inflicted intentionally. Any other observations, Master Potter?"

"He's very tired," Harry told her.

"That's obvious," said Madam Pomfrey, "but is it your own observation, or did he volunteer the information."

"When Mrs. Weasley and I arrived, at first he was sarcastic. Then he said he couldn't do this anymore, that he was very tired, and that he wanted to die."

"He said that. To you and Molly Weasley."

"Yes, ma'am."

"It's serious, then. In all these years I've never known Severus to succumb to weakness sufficiently to admit that he couldn't handle it. I think despite the cold water he has a fever, and I'll be looking for more extensive physical damage from the ill treatment."

Harry grimaced. "Can I see him?"

"He's not conscious. It may be better that he isn't for this. You may see him, but only for a moment."

Snape lay pale and unmoving, tucked between white hospital sheets and warm blankets. As Harry watched, though, Snape suddenly cried out faintly, then shifted his body to lie on his side, and to snuggle deeper into the warm bed.

Harry went back to his own hospital bed, certain that all would soon be well.

It was still well before midnight when Harry woke up. He lay still for a moment, then realized there was a whispered conversation coming from behind the privacy screen that shielded Snape's bed.

"I don't think," Snape was saying, "that you have the right to medicate me against my will."

"I've given you sleeping draughts before."

"You've drugged me into insensibility before. Not, mind you, that I'm saying there wasn't a need on that occasion, but since I have not this time attempted self-immolation, I do not see that there is a need now."

"You've been through a lot, and you're not well. You need the sleep."

"I need to tell Robards something."

"I assure you that at this time of night he's probably asleep."

"Contact him."

"I'll do no such thing."

"Then I won't take your medicine."

"I'll get Hagrid to hold you down."

"Poppy, it's a matter of seeing that justice is done."

There was silence, and then Madam Pomfrey appeared from behind the screen. She crossed the room to the fireplace, tossed in a handful of floo powder, and said, "Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

A duty officer's face appeared. "Is this an emergency, Hogwarts?" he asked.

"There's a patient here that your department head is interested in. He says he has information to pass on."

"That's what they all say," replied the duty officer, turning away to check a roster. "Some of them would sell their own mothers for a little extra… Hold on, we don't have anyone being held at Hogwarts."

"It's more of a personal relationship," Madam Pomfrey told him. "Mr. Robards will know who I'm talking about."

"I'll pass the message on," said the duty officer, and closed the connection.

While they waited, Madam Pomfrey busied herself preparing a glass of medicine, presumably for Snape, who tossed and turned. "What are these things you've put around me?" he asked in a petulant tone, then a stony thud announced that he'd kicked one of the bricks off the bed.

"Shhh!" Madam Pomfrey hissed as she came flying across the room. "You'll wake Harry." She began removing the bricks and laying them on a chair.

"Potter's here? Whatever for?"

"Observation, just like you. Except he's in much better condition than you are and takes his medicine."

"The two are not necessarily synonymous. Sometimes one is better for not having taken the medicine."

The dispute was interrupted by the green glow of the floo. It was Robards. "Is something wrong, Madam Pomfrey? I hope our patient is no worse."

"He says he has something important to tell you, but I refuse," she said, turning to stop Snape, who was trying to get up, "to let him out of bed. You get back up there or I'll take your pajamas and force you to use a bedpan."

It was a threat Snape obviously could not dismiss lightly. He passed his message through Madam Pomfrey, who told Robards, "Don't charge or interrogate Nigel Yaxley until after you've talked to Severus about the case. Several things happened that make Severus think that Yaxley's case is different from the others."

"Understood," said Robards. "Tell him I'll be at Hogwarts tomorrow at seven. He can give me a full statement before I go into the office." He signed off before Madam Pomfrey had a chance to protest.

"Now," Madam Pomfrey told Snape, "you're going to take your medicine."

"Only if you'll guarantee me that I'll wake up well before seven."

"You'll be up by six," Pomfrey promised, and with that Snape meekly drank the potion in the glass.

Robards arrived as promised, by which time Snape was up and dressed, much to the displeasure of Madam Pomfrey. Harry, intent on being ready for anything, was dressed as well, and he and Snape were eating breakfast.

"What about Yaxley?" Robards asked.

"He's not like the others. Up until a year ago, he was helping me with some things I was doing for Dumbledore. He didn't know it was for Dumbledore, but he couldn't help but realize after a while that it wasn't for the Dark Lord, either. Then, suddenly, between June and August last year, he changed. Became very closed. Did what the Dark Lord told him to. Not with a lot of enthusiasm, but still very much the good little Death Eater. I didn't see him very much because I was at Hogwarts."

Snape paused to pour another cup of coffee. "From the moment we got off the boat over a week ago, Yaxley's been on my side. I didn't ask him to, he just did it. If the others questioned my motives, he offered a plausible explanation. When we voted, he voted with me. He was always on the side of waiting and retrenching, never on the side of attack or revenge."

"You think he has a story to tell?"

"Yes. All he needs is the opportunity to tell it and a sympathetic ear. I'd like to be there, but that's probably too risky."

"I'll see he's separated from the others."

"Thanks," said Snape. "Now I need information from you two. Where have you found Miss Weasley?"

"No!" Madam Pomfrey insisted from the other side of the room. "You need several days rest, and you are not going any where."

"My dear Poppy," said Snape smoothly, "I can only assure you that if I stay here while work is unfinished, I shall fret myself into an apoplexy and effectively triple your workload. May I suggest a postponement of those several days."

Madam Pomfrey set her hands on her hips and scowled, but knew defeat when she saw it. She turned to Harry. "You stay with him and see that he doesn't overtax himself."

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry.

Robards briefed Snape. "Ginny's been seen in mirrors that are in Fortescue's boarded up ice cream shop. She can even go to handheld mirrors, but when those mirrors are carried out of the shop, she has to leave them. She seems to be able to hear people, she responds with gestures, but she can't talk."

"Is her image in the mirror transparent, opaque, or solid?" Snape asked.

"Solid," said Harry. "When you look at the two of you in the mirror, it's like you're standing next to each other."

Snape rose. "I need some things from my office, and then I'm going to Fortescue's. I presume that you, Potter, are coming too."

"And me," said Robards.

"I don't need a guard. I'm not going to run."

"I'm not going to be guarding you. If you're going to be creating spells, I want to watch."

Snape nodded, and the three left the hospital wing and hurried, not upstairs to the Headmaster's office, but downstairs to the Potions office. There Snape took several small jars and tins, a bottle of liquid that he let Harry carry, and from the desk drawer a notepad, several pencils, and a pocket calculator.

"What about parchment and quills?" Harry gasped.

"Too messy and harder to erase," said Snape. "But you know that already." Then he grabbed a cloak from a coat stand and swept from the office, the others behind him, heading up to the entrance hall, then down the hill to the gate to apparate to Fortescue's.

The entire Weasley clan was there, including Fleur, Hermione, Luna, and – surprisingly to Snape – Neville Longbottom. Molly Weasley reacted to their appearance first, and rushed over to hug… Snape. "I was hoping you'd come!" she cried, and without further unnecessary chatter, dragged him over to the tall mirror that they'd pulled into the middle of the room.

Snape stood in front of the mirror. There, gazing back at him, was the very corporeal-looking Ginny Weasley.

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," Snape said to the mirror. "Can you hear me?"

Ginny nodded.

"You are in your present condition because you were apparently hit and your apparation disrupted by an accidentally created spell that we have no prior knowledge of. I am trying to help you. Can you see me? Are you well? Are you thirsty? Are you hungry? Are you tired or sleepy? Do you feel any desire to eat, drink, or rest?" To the first two questions, Ginny nodded. To the last four she shook her head.

"I assume," Snape continued, "that you have tried speaking to your family without success. I shall ask you questions that can be answered by a yes or a no. You might try speaking to me, but if that does not work, we shall continue as we have started." Ginny concurred.

The questions were short and simple, but many, first about the spell that hit her. Did Ginny remember Crabbe's attack? Did his spell actually strike her? What part of her body did it hit? Did it hit before her apparation began? or after it was in progress? Did her apparation feel like the normal apparations she'd practiced during classes at Hogwarts? Had Ginny intended to apparate to her home? Was she familiar with Fortescue's ice cream parlor? and intended to apparate there? Was she in the ice cream parlor at the moment?

The last answer was surprising to those around Snape because Ginny shook her head 'no.' Snape immediately followed with the question, "Can you see where I am?" Another no. Snape paused, then, "I'm in Fortescue's ice cream parlor. Can you see it around me?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Excuse me," said Robards. "Could you wait for about five minutes." Snape agreed and told Ginny of the delay. Robards popped out and returned seven minutes later with three Law Enforcement employees armed with parchment and quick writing quills. "Sorry for the delay," Robards told them. He held out his hand to Snape. In it was the wand confiscated from Snape on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, Snape's own wand.

Snape turned back to Ginny. There was in his face that quality already noticed by Harry in the cave, of complete, intense focus in the moment. It did, in fact, make him look younger.

"Stand, as near as you can estimate it in the mirror, next to me. Where do you see me?" Ginny pointed in front of her. "In the mirror. Do you see me next to you when you look to your side instead of at the mirror? No. Are you in a room? Does it seem as if it's part of a larger building? Do you recognize the room? Can you leave the room?"

Snape tucked his wand up his sleeve. "Now I'm going to look for any physical trace of you in this room. I shall be touching the space where you are. Stand very still. If it bothers you, or if you feel it in any way, start shaking your head." Snape began slowly, as if he actually expected to touch Ginny's hair, then let his fingers search the air beside him.

"What are you looking for?" Robards asked.

"Vibrations, temperature changes, anything that isn't just air." Wand in hand now, Snape also cast several spells for revealing the hidden. Nothing worked, and Ginny seemed not to feel anything. Turning to the others, Snape asked, "Does anyone have anything small and golden? A ring maybe?"

With a glance at his wife, Bill Weasley pulled off his wedding band and handed it to Snape. "Hold out your hands," Snape told Ginny, and then looking in the mirror for guidance, he dropped the ring over the spot where her cupped palms would be if she was standing next to him. The ring clattered to the floor.

Bill retrieved his ring as Snape continued his litany. "Look around the room where you are. Do you recognize it? Are there windows so you can look outside? Are there other people in the room? Is Florian Fortescue in the room?" To the last question, Ginny nodded emphatically.

Finally, Snape told Ginny to relax and communicate with her family. He sat himself at a table with his notebook, pencils, and calculator, and began to figure.

"May we join you?" Robards asked as he settled into a chair next to Snape, together with his three staff members. They had all clearly been taking notes. "This lot needs some field experience."

"My pleasure," Snape said, not having much of a choice. "Just make sure they don't get in the way."

"I'll send them back to Accounts Receivable if they do," Robards assured him.

It was like having a seventh year NEWT class, everyone wanting to learn. All Snape had to do was talk out loud to himself as he went through his figures and notes.

"She's not in Fortescue's, and she's not in the mirrors. The mirrors are a link between where she is and where we are, but she isn't in them. She's looking through them, just as we are. That's why she can't leave when the mirrors leave. It also appears that she's not a completely material being where she is because she isn't feeling hunger, thirst, or fatigue despite having been there for nearly three days…"

"One of the first things I need to do," Snape said several minutes later to no one in particular, "is find out what this Obliterate spell does."

"Doesn't it, well, obliterate things?" one of the aurors asked.

"If you mean destroy, not necessarily. You note that Miss Weasley has not been destroyed. Its original meaning was to make a stone inscription undecipherable by wearing away the letters. It also means to make disappear or to cause to be forgotten. You know, Gawain, the Ministry really should have Latin experts on staff. Latin has been the binding core of British wand work since the sixth century, and the spells generally operate according to the Latin meaning."

Hermione had joined the group. "So when I used it on footprints in the snow, what it did was erase them, or wipe the snow smooth?"

"Exactly," Snape replied. "Now, I need something to work with." He walked back behind the counter where the dishes and utensils for serving the ice cream were kept. "Something in a colored glass, I should think, so that we can see changes in structure better." He set the glass on a small table well away from the people. "Crabbe was standing some twenty-five or thirty feet away and not aiming at glass. I suggest you all put up some kind of shield, since we don't know what this will do. I'd hate to have to bring St. Mungo's in."

After all had complied, Snape faced the table, pointed his wand at the glass, and said, "Obliterate!" There appeared to be no change in the glass. Snape picked up a spoon, walked over to the table, and tapped the glass with the spoon. It sounded more like tapping plastic than tapping glass. Snape brought the glass to the table where he was working to examine it.

"There seems to be an alteration in the crystalline structure," he said, handing the glass to Robards to examine. "It's lighter in weight than it was, too."

"What does that mean?"

"It's hard to say. I shall have to try it on a creature, though I'd prefer not experimenting on living organisms. Pity we don't have a dead creature to work on first. It would at least give us an idea."

"Would a dead rat do, sir?" asked George, who had also joined the group. "All of the shops've got rats that come in from Knockturn Alley, and every couple of weeks we catch one in the traps. I'm sure someone's got a dead rat."

"It would help, thank you." As George was leaving, though, Snape called him back. "George, was Ginny trying to get to your shop?"

"I think so. We talked about it after she learned she might be a target. She didn't want to lead anyone to the Burrow, and we thought Diagon Alley is so full of people it'd be harder to grab her here. Trouble is you can't apparate, it's so crowded. So I suggested the shop. I also told her this place was still boarded up."

"So she may have been thinking of the joke shop when she apparated."

"A confusion of destination," Robards explained to his staff. "It happens frequently to novice apparators."

"George," Snape said suddenly. "Could you bring back a couple of pairs of extendable ears as well?"

"You know about those, sir?"

"From the day you first tried to use them against me at… the place we used to meet. Remember – I am the one who set you and Fred against Quirrell in your second year."

"Right, Professor," said George grinning broadly. "You got it."

Both dead rat and extendable ears appeared within fifteen minutes. George even brought a live rat that had been caught in a baited cage. Snape focused first on the organic tissue problem. "Obliterate!" he told the dead rat while the others watched.

Back at the work table, Snape examined the rat. It was not exactly fresh, but the auror team, Hermione, and George didn't care. They were disciples at the feet of a master, there being none among them who was inventing spells at the age of eleven. The vaguely unpleasant odor of a dead rat was a small price to pay for the privilege of participation.

"Gad!" Snape exclaimed. "I wish I had a microscope! How can you assess cellular damage if you don't have a microscope?"

Gawain Robards made a note that the Department of Law Enforcement had to purchase microscopes.

"Well," Snape said finally, "I don't see any visible sign of massive cell damage, and Ginny is still with us in an altered but responsive state. It is time to try this on a living creature." He place the second rat on the small table in the corner and immobilized it. "I'm sorry," he told the rat. "I really have to do this. It's for a friend. I hope it doesn't hurt."

Stepping away from the small victim, Snape pointed his wand and cried, "Obliterate!"

The rat disappeared. Snape contemplated the table for a moment, then walked over and put his hand on it. Or rather, he put his hand about two inches above it. "The rat's still here," he told the watching group. Very carefully, he picked the rat up and carried it over to a window where a ray of sun shone through a space between the boards that had been placed there after Fortescue disappeared. In the brighter light, the rat was clearly visible, if somewhat ghostly, lying immobile in Snape's hand. He returned the animal to the cage and removed the immobilizing spell. When the cage was placed in the sunlight, the faintly visible rat could be seen moving about as if nothing had happened to it at all.

"It's lighter in weight, almost weightless," Snape said. "It would seem the spell renders the subject semi-corporeal. I wonder…" He walked over to the mirror and laid his hand against the glass. "There is, of course, the probability that this is much more than a mirror."

Returning to the work table, Snape picked up the extendable ears. "Do these function as a pair," he asked George, "or are they independent of each other?"

"All you need is one, but some of our customers want pairs, so that's how we make them. Left and right."

"Were these two made as a pair?"

"Yeah, they were. Fred made those two."

"The mirror seems to transmit sound in only one direction. We may only need one ear, but in case one isn't sufficient, I'm hoping that the ears have a magical connection to each other that will remain even after one is Obliterated."

Snape put one of the ears on the corner table and cast the Obliterate spell. Like the glass and the dead rat, the ear appeared unchanged. Snape frowned slightly. "Odd how the spell has a different effect on living tissue than on dead tissue and nonorganic things."

"Is that a problem?" Robards asked.

"It could be. They might need different spells to return them to their unaltered states."

Snape picked up the Obliterated ear and went to the mirror. "Ginny," he said, holding up the ear. "I'm going to try passing this to you through the mirror. I'm hoping it will allow us to hear you. Don't pull it all the way through. I want the end to stay on our side."

Ginny walked right up to the mirror and waited. Snape touched the ear to the glass and pushed. On the other side, Ginny grasped the ear and pulled. In seconds, the extended ear hung half on Ginny's side of the mirror and half in the ice cream parlor.

"Can you hear me?" Ginny asked. The sound of her voice came out through the un-Obliterated ear.

"Loud and clear," said Snape.

"Oh, Ginny dear, are you all right?" cried Molly, and nearly everyone in the room began asking questions at the same time.

"I'm fine, Mum, really I am, but I'm not the only one. Mr. Fortescue's here. He's lying under one of the tables. I don't think he's dead, but I can't wake him up."

"Ginny," Arthur said, "can you tell where you are?"

"It's some kind of a storage room full of lots of old furniture and things. I can't get out because I can't turn the doorknob or push the windows up. I've tried knocking and yelling, but no one hears me."

"Do you know how you got there?" Snape asked.

"I'm not sure. I apparated into the ice cream shop, but I was really dizzy. I knew Crabbe would try to follow me, so I wanted to get out as quickly as possible and go to George's shop. I thought I was going towards the door, but suddenly I was here."

Snape turned to the Weasleys. "Was the mirror facing the door before?"

George nodded. "So she saw the reflection in the mirror and thought that was the door?"

"Probably," said Snape. "Ginny, have you tried coming back through the mirror?"

Ginny put her hands on the mirror on her side. "It's solid," she said.

"So it only goes one way. It is, nevertheless, a portal. Something like the vanishing cabinet at Hogwarts." Snape thought for a moment. "The other mirror could be anywhere. Are you certain you don't recognize the room?"

"It's just a room filled with lots of junk."

"Wait a minute," said Percy suddenly. "There's a junk shop right here in Diagon Alley. That's where I bought Prefects Who Gained Power at the beginning of my fifth year."

Arthur Weasley and the others headed for the door, except for Snape, who sat down at the table where he'd done his figuring. Arthur paused, his hand on the doorknob. "You're not coming?"

"I'm not going out there," said Snape. "I'm the escaped convict who murdered Professor Dumbledore, remember? I'm not about to be the focus of a scene in Diagon Alley. Besides, it's going to look very strange if seventeen people all of a sudden walk out of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which is supposed to be boarded up and sealed off."

"Point taken," said Robards. "What would you prefer?"

"A couple of you apparate out and reenter through the Leaky Cauldron. Go to the shop and find out if they're there. Don't apparate with them; we don't know how it will affect them. Come back here and side-along back with me. Then the rest of you can go there through the Leaky Cauldron. I really don't want people to know we were in here."

Arthur Weasley and Gawain Robards were the ones to leave. About fifteen minutes later, Robards apparated back into the ice cream shop. "She's there," he told the assembled Weasleys and their friends. "So is Fortescue. He appears to be in a condition resembling hibernation."

"George," said Snape, "do you think you could sneak out of here without apparating and take the glass and both rats to the junk shop?"

"Piece of cake, Professor," George replied.

The owner of the junk shop was somewhat irritated to find so many people crowding into his shop with no intention of buying, but Arthur Weasley mollified him by paying him to close the shop for the rest of the day. It was by now getting close to noon, so Hermione, Luna, and Neville went out to buy food for the others. Snape began his work on the spells.

"There are several possibilities for the final condition, but I'm going to start with _saluber_, which has the connotation of 'in good condition' as well as 'healthy.' 'Into a body in good condition' is _in corpus salubrum_. The verb is the biggest question mark."

Snape tried the first person singular indicative and the second person singular imperative for _commutare_, _vertere_, _transmutare_, _convertare_, _recidere_ (which caused the glass to shatter, forcing him to alter another glass, provided by the shopkeeper for a price), _demutare_, and _immutare_ before he hit on _redire_. The command _"Redi in corpus salubrum!"_ caused the second glass to regain its normal weight without any apparent damage.

Snape then tried the spell on the dead rat, which also regained its normal weight.

"Now," said Snape, "I fear we must chance a little-known spell on our poor rat friend."

The living rat was immobilized and taken from its cage. Snape again apologized to it, then stood back, pointed his wand and said the incantation _"Redi in corpus salubrum!"_ The rat lost its ghostly aspect and became in all respects a normal rat. Snape put the rat back into its cage and lifted the immobilizing spell. The rat began sniffing around as if searching for food. Everyone in the room heaved a sigh of relief.

"The question now is, said Snape, "are we ready to try this on a human being? And which will be first – Miss Weasley, who is capable of speaking on her own behalf, or Mr. Fortescue, who is in a state similar to a coma and would probably be insensible to the effects of the spell should it turn out badly?"

That sparked a debate, but it was Ginny who had the final say, and she refused to allow experimentation on the unconscious Fortescue. "The rat seems to be all right," she insisted. "Even if it hurts, the end result appears to be worth it."

Everyone except for Arthur and Molly Weasley left the room, though Harry and the Weasley sons objected loudly. Snape and Robards pointed out that Ginny had the right to some privacy in the transformation, and the young men eventually concurred.

With the room now empty of everyone but himself, Ginny, and her parents, Snape asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Ginny replied. "I am."

Arthur and Molly held each other closely as Snape stepped back, raised his wand, and said, _"Redi in corpus salubrum!"_ Ginny's nearly transparent body regained its solid appearance, and then she collapsed to the floor.

All three rushed to her side, but Ginny was already smiling. "Boy, does that make you dizzy!" she told them. She wanted to stand up, but her parents insisted that she lie quietly for a few minutes instead.

Snape stepped over to Fortescue's side and cast the same spell on him. He materialized at once, the sound of his breathing harsh and ragged. Immediately Snape went to the storeroom door. "Get St. Mungo's," he told Robards. "Fortescue needs medical assistance."

The arrival of a medevac team from St. Mungo's caused a stir in Diagon Alley that turned into a large crowd as word spread that Florean Fortescue had been found. Then the mood of the crowd began to get ugly with the rumor that one of the Death Eaters responsible for Fortescue's disappearance had been apprehended with him.

As the St. Mungo's team prepared Fortescue for transport, Robards used the junk shop hearth for a long floo conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt. A few minutes later, the Minister of Magic himself, followed closely by Hagrid, arrived in Diagon Alley and went straight to the junk shop. As they entered, Fortescue was carried out, strapped to medical transport brooms, and whisked away.

"We've been talking with our legal people," Shacklebolt told Snape. He made a movement as if to place a hand on Snape's shoulder, but something in Snape's face brought him up short.

"Legal people?"

"Yes. You're going to have to stand trial."

"Murder?" Though the tone implied a question, it also carried a note of fatality. Snape's eyes became cold and hollow. Harry could practically feel him shutting down.

"We want the charge lowered to voluntary manslaughter, but we may have to start with second degree murder and work it down during the trial." When Snape was silent, Shacklebolt insisted, "Severus, it's for your own good. If there's a legal judgment now, it can never rise up again in the future. And if the whole story comes out in a public trial, people will learn how you've helped the wizarding world, and it will make your life easier."

"I don't see how being dissected by the readers of _The Daily Prophet_ is going to make my life easier."

"Oh dear, Kingsley," interceded Molly Weasley. "He's just saved Ginny and Florean. Can't something be done?" Her family and friends nodded in agreement.

Robards cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him. "You don't have any choice, Professor. Regardless of your intentions, you did kill Dumbledore and Moody. You were present and may have assisted in the deaths of Scrimgeour and Burbage. You violated parole by returning to Voldemort. There are more than enough extenuating circumstances to guarantee that you'll walk out of this a free man, but first there has to be a resolution of law. We'll try to make the proceedings as short and uncomplicated as possible, but…"

"But meanwhile, I'm a paramecium on a glass slide under a microscope. My entire life in tabloid review."

"I'm afraid, Severus," said Shacklebolt, "that you don't have much choice."

"Choice? What's that? No, wait. Maybe I do have a choice. Maybe I just won't go with you."

"You will," Robards said. "I remember your first trial. You're the only Death Eater I ever met who wouldn't lie in court, not even to save himself." He stepped forward and laid a hand on Snape's shoulder, a hand not intended to be comforting. "Severus Snape, I arrest you for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. You will accompany me to the Ministry of Magic."

"Look," said Harry, suddenly filled with pity for the intensely private Snape and the public exposure he was about to be subjected to. "Isn't there some way to avoid publicity?"

Robards shook his head. "The only reason the first trial was closed was because Dumbledore presented a case that secrecy was necessary both for Professor Snape's personal safety and in case of future need. Neither of those reasons applies anymore. Besides, Harry, proceedings conducted in secret aren't going to help him with the general public. An open trial would."

There was nothing more to be said. The Weasleys and their friends, naturally including Harry, left to apparate to the Burrow to fuss over Ginny to their hearts' content. Shacklebolt, Robards, Snape, Hagrid, and the aurors went from the junk shop by floo to the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The crowd in Diagon Alley went about their business, though for the next couple of hours Fortescue was the only topic of conversation.

Blessedly, neither Shacklebolt nor Robards saw any reason to restrain Snape as they would have for a criminal. In the Ministry, Snape was acutely conscious of all the stares as he walked through the atrium talking to the Minister and the head of Law Enforcement. The employees of the Ministry knew him as a Death Eater, and were unaware of his dual role. To see him now in the obviously friendly company of their Minister must be something of a shock, but for the moment Snape was content to leave it to Shacklebolt to deal with.

The three of them went down to Robards's domain and to the holding cell where Yaxley was being kept.

Yaxley looked up when they entered, then stood when he saw who it was. "So," Yaxley said to Snape, "Alastor was right about you the first time."

"You worked for Moody?" Snape asked. "Was that why you were helping me at headquarters?"

"Alastor said I should support you. He didn't say why, but I could guess. We thought things were going well until you killed Dumbledore, then we had to backtrack and rework our plans. I had to be the good little Death Eater again. I didn't know what to do when Alastor died. No one else knew I was working for him. I couldn't leave the Dark Lord and there was no one outside I could contact."

"You helped me handle the others, the Lestranges and Crabbe."

Yaxley shrugged. "I figured something was going on when you got us off that boat – with a wand in your hand no less. You were trying to steer them away from attacking people, so I went along. When the arrests began, I was pretty sure it was you doing it."

Robards spoke up. "We'll be debriefing Nigel for several days. You need to get some rest. We're not putting you into a holding cell. There are some small apartments that we use if personnel have to spend the night here. You'll be in one of them. We also want a healer to check you."

"If it's all the same," said Hagrid, "and if ya don't object, Madam Pomfrey'd like to be the one to check him out. There ain't no reason why it's got t' be Ministry, is there?"

"No," said Robards. "Of course it can be Pomfrey. That is if Professor Snape agrees."

"I would prefer it," said Snape. "Thank you."

The little apartment was quite comfortable. It had a bed and a small sitting area, and a private bathroom. It was, in fact, rather like a hotel room. The biggest drawback was that there were no windows. In that sense, it was very much like a prison.

Madam Pomfrey was brought in, escorted personally by Robards, in about fifteen minutes. Hagrid stayed as well, though he stood outside the door as a sort of bodyguard. Madam Pomfrey clucked over Snape like a mother hen. Pomfrey had brought changes of clothing with her, including hospital pajamas.

After a thorough checkup during which she prophesied dire consequences from his escapades – ("Lung capacity reduced, a slight fever… You may have a touch of pneumonia.") – Pomfrey ordered Snape into hospital garb and gave him a sleeping draught. By now it was about six o'clock, and Snape was told that nothing less than twelve hours sleep would be acceptable.

"You're the nurse," Snape replied, and downed the medicine obediently. Then he curled on his side in the warm bed and was soon fast asleep.

xxxxxxxxxx


	9. Chapter 9

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 9**

_Sunday, June 21, 1998 The Summer Solstice_

He did sleep for twelve hours. When he awoke and got off the bed, lights came on in the room. Snape put on a dressing gown, wondering if he was being watched. In about five minutes, an orderly came in with Snape's breakfast – eggs, toast, bacon, and coffee. Right behind him came Harry Potter.

"What's he doing here?" Snape asked.

"Good morning to you, too," said Harry, and pointed to a visitor's badge on his chest. "I have permission."

"I didn't authorize it," said Snape. "I have a right to say who can visit me and who can't. It's in the rules."

"Excuse me," the orderly said. "I have a job to do. This is a standard breakfast. We don't have a big cafeteria selection. Is there anything else you'd like? If we have it, I can get it for you."

"Kippered herring," Snape said immediately, and when the orderly shook his head, Snape continued, almost maliciously. "Eggs Benedict and a café latte? A mushroom omelet with jasmine tea?" The orderly excused himself again and backed out of the room. Snape barked at him, "Tell Robards or whoever's in charge to get in here and remove this unwanted intruder!"

Harry remained by the door. He wanted to tell Snape to sit down and eat breakfast, but he had the feeling that whatever he suggested, Snape would do the opposite. So instead he said, "I want to talk to you."

"No," Snape replied, moving to the little table that held the food. "Can't you see I'm having breakfast? Go away." And he began to eat while Harry simply stood there.

Even though Snape deliberately did not rush his meal, he was finished rather quickly. Harry was still there. Harry, in fact, took a chair, reversed its position and sat in it backwards, straddling the seat and resting his arms on the chair's back.

"What's keeping Robards?" Snape grumbled. "He should have removed you long ago."

"It's only about six-thirty," Harry told him. "Madam Pomfrey said you'd wake up about six, and I came early to be here and talk to you. My guess is that Mr. Robards will arrive around eight. Since you asked specifically for him… we have about an hour and a half."

Snape rose instantly and strode to the door, pounding on it with one fist and shouting for the guard. No one came. "You could be murdering me in here and no one would care," he snapped at Harry as he returned to the table and sat down again. "I don't want you here. You've no right to pester and harass me like this."

Harry shrugged. "You started it." Snape glared at him, but Harry plowed right on. "Really, you did. You told me you knew Aunt Petunia. You showed me my mom's house. You can't tease me with information like that and then withhold the rest. Besides, I already know a lot. It's the details I'm looking for."

"This is a gross violation of my privacy. Who gave you all this about my life? Dumbledore?"

"No, not Dumbledore. He'd promised you something and wouldn't break the promise. I told you I talked to Aunt Petunia. And Hagrid told me things, too."

"Hagrid! I'll strangle him with my bare hands!"

To keep from smiling, Harry stifled the picture of Snape's slim hands trying to encircle Hagrid's great neck. "I tricked him," he told Snape. "I got him to believe that Dumbledore'd already told me. Want to know how much I've learned?"

Snape slouched back in his chair, his arms across his chest, glaring morosely at the floor. "I wish I'd killed you when I had the chance. Stupid house-elf!"

"When did you have the chance to kill me?"

"In the Great Hall while you were facing the Dark Lord. I had a clear shot, but that elf…"

"Why did you want to kill me?" Harry's voice rose with shock, his cheerful demeanor gone.

"You were a Horcrux. If the Dark Lord had 'died' while you were still alive, he would have escaped, and it would all have had to be done over again. Didn't they tell you? It's one reason why they wanted to kill me."

"They told me, but I didn't think you really meant it. But that means it was you!"

"What are you talking about? Who was me?"

"The doe. The patronus. The one who led me to the sword in the Forest of Dean and then at Hogwarts told me what I had to do to defeat Voldemort."

"Don't be silly. My patronus is a fox. Ask Shacklebolt."

"No. Tonks's patronus changed to a wolf because she loved Professor Lupin. Hermione's patronus is a member of the weasel family because of Ron. My dad's patronus was a stag, so my mom's was probably a doe. And that proves you loved her because yours is a doe, too."

"I never saw either your father's or your mother's patronus. Several people saw mine during the last three years, including Hagrid and Professor McGonagall. Ask them. It's a fox."

"I don't believe you." Harry leaned forward a bit more as Snape settled further back in his chair. "You loved her. Aunt Petunia thought you were the wrong type to be hanging around my mom. She thought you were undesirable, and wanted to get rid of you. That's what my dad thought, too, wasn't it? That you loved her and that's why the two of you were always fighting. You were rivals."

"For your information, James Potter did not care one pinch of owl dung about your mother for the first four and a half years at Hogwarts. He didn't care about me, either. In fact, except for his little clique of friends, he didn't care much about people at all. What upset him was contact between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Any Gryffindor and any Slytherin. If your father's prejudice hadn't started him worrying about a Gryffindor girl talking to a Slytherin boy, you'd never have been born."

"I don't want you talking about my dad like that," said Harry quietly.

"Good," Snape retorted. "Then you'll want to leave as quickly as possible because I intend to continue doing it until you're gone."

"What do you really have against my father?"

"Besides the son he left behind to make my life miserable?" Harry didn't flinch, so after a moment Snape added, "We first saw each other on the Express. He overheard me telling Lily that I hoped we'd both be sorted into Slytherin so we could be together. He and Sirius immediately began insulting me. Then, after she was sorted into Gryffindor, they both tried to keep us away from each other even though they knew from the train that we'd been friends before we went to Hogwarts. James always went on about how great Gryffindor was, but in terms of prejudice it was no different from Slytherin, and Gryffindor has always been more violent."

"Gryffindor is not violent!" Harry shouted.

"No? You want chapter and verse? Every time Gryffindor became physical in response to a verbal situation? Like the time Miss Weasley rammed her broom into Zacharias Smith and was pleased that he had to go to the hospital wing?"

Harry rose from his chair at that. "She was provoked!"

"I do not recall Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff ever sending Lee Jordan to the hospital wing."

His face flaming with anger, Harry started to move, then caught himself and resumed his seat. "My dad wasn't like that," he insisted, trying not to think of the pensieve memory he'd witnessed.

"You know nothing about your father except what you learned through invading my privacy and the fables Professor Dumbledore told you."

"Why do you think the Professor told fables?"

"You accused me once of resenting your father because he saved my life. That was a lie you could only have heard from Dumbledore."

"Why would he lie to me?"

"Why not ask him?"

"All right," Harry said, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the miniature portrait of Dumbledore. "I will. Professor Dumbledore," he said to the picture frame. "I'd like to speak with you, please."

Dumbledore appeared almost immediately and looked around with some curiosity. "These are quite nice accommodations you have, Severus. Are you enjoying your stay?"

"I might," Snape replied, "except they forgot to give me the key."

"I am sorry to hear that," said the portrait. "What did you wish to talk about, Harry?"

"Professor, in my first year you told me that Professor Snape wanted to save me from the cursed broom because he was indebted to my father."

"Did I?" replied the portrait. "I fear I do not recall."

"You said he wanted to repay the debt so he could go back to hating my father in peace."

Snape was smirking slightly. "Well, Professor? Here we are, the two of us together. Which of us are you going to offend? Me with a lie, or Potter with the truth?"

Dumbledore looked distressed. "Harry, Severus never considered himself indebted to your father. He felt that James had acted well under the circumstances, and he appreciated it, but he also felt that it was done more to protect Remus and Sirius than to help him. The dislike between them stemmed more from jealousy…"

"Don't you dare!" Snape shrieked, body and voice rising at the same time. "That Skeeter woman was right about you! You're as big a liar as Lupin…"

Harry was on his feet now, too. "Professor Lupin was no liar!"

Snape spun on Harry. "Did Lupin or did he not tell you that I was jealous of James Potter because of his Quidditch ability?"

"O dear me…" whispered Dumbledore, sinking down into his frame. "Remus said that?"

Harry was furious now. "You hated Professor Lupin just as much as you hated Sirius and my father!"

"I doubt," said Snape softly, "that such a thing is physically or emotionally possible."

"Then tell me," Harry challenged, "Why did you attack Lupin that day in the Shack instead of Sirius?"

"I wonder," mused Snape, "if selective listening is a trait that runs in your family. If so, it comes from the Potter side and might go a long way toward explaining the incredible obtuseness James frequently showed."

"Severus," Dumbledore cautioned. "You really are taking this a bit far."

"Am I? Master Potter here was standing right in front of me when I explained that I had gone to the Shack because I was following Lupin who had omitted to take his Wolfsbane potion and was on the verge of transforming into a murderous dark creature. I restrained Lupin so that he would not harm the three students who were present. I did not restrain Black because he was not the werewolf, though I considered him dangerous."

"You were talking about giving them both to dementors!"

"Black was trying to kill you. Lupin was helping him."

"That's not true! You know that's not true!"

"What I know is irrelevant. What is relevant is what I knew then. Professor," Snape was addressing the portrait, "Did you not also believe for most of Potter's third year that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban in order to kill him?"

"I am afraid that I did."

"There, Potter. Suffice it to say that your godfather was the kind of man about whom it would be easy to believe such things. Even Hagrid believed it."

"You know," Harry said coldly, "I don't think I want to help you any more. I understand now why my father never liked you, and why my mother turned to other wizards as friends the moment she found someone different. I'm sorry I came."

"Then for once we're in agreement," Snape said, and he watched in silence as Harry put Dumbledore's portrait back into his pocket and left the room.

Harry nearly ran into Gawain Robards in the corridor. "Good," Robards said, "he's up."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"We got the judges together first thing this morning. Preliminary hearing is in fifteen minutes."

"That's nice," Harry said, and made his way toward the elevators. The portrait in his pocket began vibrating and thumping like a thing possessed. Harry took it out. "What do you want?" he asked. He felt very tired.

"Go to the hearing," Dumbledore said. "Go back right now, follow them, and attend that hearing!"

"He doesn't want me there," Harry said. "He hates me."

"You have one thing right, at least," said Dumbledore. "He does not want you there. Everything he said was intended to drive you away so that you would not be around for this hearing."

"Why would he do that?"

"That is what worries me. He is planning something. Something he does not want you to know about. Quickly, Harry, find them!"

Harry sprinted back to Snape's room and arrived in time to see Robards talking to a clerk in the corridor. "Has he gone?" Harry gasped.

"Yes," Robards replied. "He should be there. I'm about to go myself. Why?"

"He was really unpleasant to me this morning. Dumbledore says it's because he was trying to get rid of me so I wouldn't go to the hearing. Dumbledore's worried. I have to be there. Hagrid and Hermione are in the atrium. Can I bring them, too?"

"It's an open hearing," Robards said. "Main court antechamber. Ten minutes. Try not to be late."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and raced for the atrium to get Hagrid and Hermione. Behind him Robards was again talking to the clerk, a sense of urgency in his manner.

Snape didn't even try to hide his irritation when he saw Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid enter the chamber. Gawain Robards entered a few minutes later accompanied by his clerk, and then a bailiff ordered them all to rise, at which point three judges came into the court, and sat at the bench, the bailiff then saying, "Be seated."

"Gawain," said the judge in the center, "are you presenting this case yourself?"

"Yes, your Honor," Robards replied.

"There was a rumor in Chambers that it was important. It looks as if rumor was true. Will the defendant please rise." Snape stood. "You are Severus Snape, currently employed as headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"I am, your Honor."

The judge looked around at the tiny group of people. "Which of you is counsel for the defense?"

"Your Honor," Snape said quickly, "if it please the court I wish to act as my own counsel."

"Do you have any legal training?"

"None formally, sir, though I believe wizarding law does not require that I have any if I defend myself."

"Very well. Mr. Snape, as this is a case which could involve life imprisonment, there will at all times be three judges present. I am Tiberius Finch, and my two colleagues are Bianca Hazelwood and Prescott Gamp. I will read the charges against you, and you will respond to them."

"Your Honor," Snape said, "I wish to object to the fact that there are persons unconnected with these proceedings who are present in the court."

Robards was on his feet at once. "Your Honor, these proceedings are open to the public, and the Ministry sees no just reason why they should be arbitrarily closed."

"Sir," Snape countered, "one of them is a potential witness whose testimony may be compromised…"

"None of those present is on our current list of witnesses."

Judge Finch peered at the two over his glasses. "The court sees no grounds for closing the proceedings to the public," he said. "Now, to the charges. First, that one Severus Snape did willfully and with malice aforethought encompass the death of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"Guilty," said Snape.

The judge peered at him again, then continued. "Second, that the said Severus Snape did willfully and with malice aforethought encompass the death of Alastor Moody."

"Guilty," said Snape again.

"Your Honor," Robards cried. "Please, the prosecution would like the charges to be considered as a package so that if one of them goes to trial, all go to trial."

"That is highly unusual, Gawain. You would have to have strong justification."

Robards whispered something to his clerk, who scurried out of the room, then continued. "There is precedent, sir, in the 1672 case of Burgess Wilcox, who was brought to trial on two hundred nineteen counts of disturbing the peace even though he pleaded guilty to all but four of them. The auror department assures the court that we have adequate grounds for this request."

"Very well," said Judge Finch. He continued with the charges. "…participated in the torture and death of Rufus Scrimgeour, …was accessory to the murder of Charity Burbage, …knowing himself to be under suspended sentence, returned voluntarily to the service of the self-styled Lord Voldemort, …through service to the aforesaid Voldemort did undermine the operation of Hogwarts school…"

To each charge, Snape replied, "Guilty." The list had just ended when the clerk returned and handed a document to Robards.

"There is one other charge, your Honor," said Robards. "We finished processing it just this morning." He handed the document to the judge.

"That Severus Snape did willfully and with malice aforethought encompass the death of Emmeline Vance."

Snape, his mouth open to say 'Guilty,' paused and glared at Robards. After a moment, the judge prompted him. "Well, Mr. Snape, do you plead guilty or not guilty?"

Glancing in vain around the room for inspiration, his frustration and anger apparent on his face, Snape finally said, "Not guilty," then waited in silence.

"Given the gravity of the charges and the pleas of guilty," Judge Finch decreed, "the accused will be kept in the custody of the Ministry pending trial." The hearing was over.

Snape was taken back to his little apartment in the Ministry. Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid returned to Hogwarts where a war council was quickly called. The four heads of houses – McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn – were there, as were Madam Pomfrey and Arthur, Molly, Ron, and Ginny Weasley. Gawain Robards joined them for the first fifteen minutes, but had too many duties demanding his return to the Ministry to remain longer. He was nonetheless able to give them some explanation of what had just occurred.

"He's trying to avoid a trial. If he pleads guilty, there's no trial, just sentencing. It ties the hands of the court. They have to consider him guilty. There's still room to consider extenuating circumstances, but only if he asks for it. He'd rather spend the rest of his life in Azkaban than have a public trial."

"Isn't there anything we can do to stop him?" Harry asked.

"You? No, not yet. Members of his immediate family or someone with legal power of attorney could ask for a hearing on his current mental competence, but there's no family and no one who has legal charge over his affairs. He'd have to do something truly bizarre to have the court order a competency hearing. At the moment you don't have to, though. There's going to be a trial."

"On the Vance business," said Hermione. "What was that?"

"Actually, on all the charges. That was the package request. We get to address all the charges, which is what we wanted. As for the Vance charge, that was a small gamble and it worked. You see, I was chief prosecutor for his first trial, and I swear that was the most law-abiding young man I'd ever met in my life. He absolutely would not lie to a court officer, not if his life depended on it, which in a way it did. He can plead guilty to the other charges because they were things he actually did – only his motives are in question, not his actions. He can't plead guilty to the murder of Emmeline Vance because he didn't kill her."

"That was a big gamble if it turns out he had anything to do with it," said Flitwick. "Do you know who did kill her?"

The portrait of Dumbledore began to chuckle. "No gamble there, Filius," he said. "He could not possibly tell the truth and still plead guilty to her murder. You see, Emmeline Vance is still alive."

The little babble of "What?… No!… Why didn't you tell…" was quickly silenced. Dumbledore was watching Harry. "Tell me," he asked, "what happens to a Fidelius charm when the Secret Keeper dies?"

"All possessors of the secret become Secret Keepers. They can all reveal the secret to outsiders if they want to." Harry knit his brows in puzzlement. "Why do you ask?"

"During all that time nearly a year ago, while you were in hiding in a certain place guarded by a secret, did anyone new ever come to the place?"

"No," said Harry, "but Death Eaters knew where it was. They stood outside in the square…"

"Because of the taboo on Voldemort's name!" cried Hermione. "They knew approximately where we were because of Voldemort's name! Not because Professor Snape told them anything! Because of the taboo!" She turned to Robards. "The location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is… is…" Hermione's face was turning red, and she looked about to choke. "I can't say it," she admit exultantly. "The Secret Keeper is still alive."

"The Secret Keeper is Emmeline Vance," said Dumbledore. "I did something foolish at the beginning of last summer that guaranteed I had only a short time left to live. I did not want the secret to become vulnerable. The murder of Amelia Bones gave me the idea, and with Severus's help we arranged the apparent murder of Emmeline. She is in quite comfortable hiding, but can be produced at any time. Gawain is right. Severus will not lie to the court. He could not plead guilty to her murder because she is not dead."

"And the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Robards smugly, "will be immensely chagrined and embarrassed at the proper moment to find that it has wrongfully accused an innocent man of a crime that was never committed."

Robards returned to London then, leaving the others to plan strategy and tactics.

"Our biggest obstacle is Severus himself," Dumbledore sighed. "Since he is acting as his own counsel, he determines the witnesses for the defense. All he has to do is not call any, and not examine any of the witnesses for the prosecution, and his case will be greatly prejudiced before the Wizengamot. Luckily, the prosecution is on our side, and much of the evidence in his behalf can be drawn out by careful questioning. We just need the right witnesses."

"You'll be one, of course," said Arthur. "You could testify about your own death, and why Severus returned to… to… Voldemort." He was still unused to actually pronouncing the name.

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore reminded them, "I cannot testify. He is the headmaster, and I am one of his portraits. I must follow his instructions. Even if he wanted me to testify, my testimony would be tainted."

"Heck," said Hagrid, "that ain't no problem at all. We just get the Board o' Governors to kick him out."

The group gathered at Hogwarts formed a committee of the whole and began to assign tasks. It was McGonagall's job to storm the Ministry and engineer the convening of the Board of Governors for the purpose of removing Snape from the position of headmaster. Slughorn and Sprout, since Slughorn, despite living on the second floor, was Potions instructor and therefore had legal access, would go through Snape's dungeon office and rooms looking for items or papers that could be brought in evidence. As acting headmistress, McGonagall formally gave Flitwick and Pomfrey the same access to the headmaster's office.

"Are you sure he can't silence you?" Flitwick asked Dumbledore.

"There are no portraits of me in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore reminded him. "There is no way he can give me any instructions until the trial itself, and then only if he knows my portrait is there. Until then, lacking specific instructions, I must do the best I can in judging his best interests."

Hermione was designated the one to study wizarding law and find any and all loopholes or tactics the others could employ. Ron, Ginny, and George were going out to the recent student body of Hogwarts to interview students of all the houses concerning Snape as both teacher and headmaster. Hagrid would interview the present and former staff. Arthur and Molly would canvass the older students. Harry was the coordinator and the link to Robards and Shacklebolt.

"Remember," Harry told his team. "No one is trying to prove that Professor Snape was an angel. All we're trying to prove is that there's enough good in him, and that he helped the wizarding world enough, so that he shouldn't have to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban."

"Do you think he'll fight us?" Arthur Weasley asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "My feeling is that he tried to stop a trial by pleading guilty because he didn't want the public exposure. Since he's going to get the public exposure now anyway, he may be willing to accept help in staying out of Azkaban."

"Well, now," interjected Hagrid, "that's only if…" He looked intensely embarrassed.

"Only if what?" Harry pressed him.

"Well, only if he ain't trying to finish something he started nigh seventeen years ago."

"And what was that?"

"Throw hisself off the Astronomy tower."

There was a moment of total silence that Hagrid felt compelled to fill. "It were when he heard about Lily… and James. He left the Hall and went up to the tower. Dumbledore, he knew somewhat were about to happen, 'cause he and I went following Professor Snape like bats outta… well, you know. We got there just in time."

"I remember," Sprout chimed in. "I met you on the stairs coming down. I even asked if he was all right."

Madam Pomfrey, a member of the medical profession and bound by its regulations, did not speak to the issue.

"Why?" Harry said suddenly. "Why did he try to kill himself?"

"Ministry thought it were because he were so upset about You-Know-Who dying and scared what would become o' him, but what he said that night were, 'I killed her; I want to die.' Lily, you know."

Harry looked around at the handful of staff members. "How many of you knew Professor Snape was my mother's friend? And never told me? Hagrid was one, and Professor Dumbledore another. Who else?"

McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged glances, but since this was not a medical matter, Pomfrey spoke first. "She visited him when he was in the hospital that time."

"I'd see them together occasionally in the library or some quiet corner, especially when the weather was bad," said Flitwick. "Talking quietly or studying, heads together so no one else could hear what they were saying. They didn't make a show of it, things what they were between the houses."

"I remember that," added McGonagall. "Red hair and black side by side. After he joined the Order and he sent me that first patronus, I thought of it again. I always suspected that was why his was a fox. Red and black hair."

"Oh," said Harry. "It is a fox, then." He paused, his brow creased with thought. "Professor, when was the last time you saw his patronus?"

"Quite a long time ago," McGonagall answered. "More than two years. Back when that horrible Umbridge woman was here."

The group split up shortly after that, each going to his or her assigned task.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Tuesday, July 23, 1998, (the new moon)_

Harry arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement around noon the following Tuesday asking to visit Snape. His request was turned down because, as the guard informed Harry, the prisoner was sleeping. Harry immediately asked if Robards would see him, a request that was granted less than half an hour later.

After first explaining why he was visiting the Ministry, Harry asked, "Isn't it a bit odd for him to be sleeping in the middle of the day?"

"He doesn't know what time it is," Robards told Harry. "There are neither clocks nor windows. He sleeps when he wants to sleep, eats when he wants to eat, reads when he wants to read… He's been through a lot. He's tired. He sleeps a lot."

"Oversleeping is a classic sign of clinical depression," Pomfrey said at the meeting of the committee around three o'clock the same afternoon. "There are lots of signs. Inattention to personal appearance or hygiene, withdrawal from social situations, decrease in energy level, excessive sleeping, lack of interest in food…"

"That's our Severus," said Hagrid. "I been nursing him through every one o' those since he were thirteen. Couple o' times he would just lie in bed staring at the wall. Like when his mum and dad died."

"Poor Severus," said Molly. "I feel so bad that all these years I've misjudged him. Should we go to him? Try to show him that we all care?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "You'd think that he'd be optimistic now, that he'd realize that everyone was on his side and that he'd go free. But he isn't. He's so depressed he sleeps all the time, and he seems to be trying to commit a sort of symbolic suicide. And I don't know why, and it bothers me."

"Why does it bother you, Harry?" the portrait of Dumbledore asked. "Are you bothered for his sake, or for yourself?"

Harry thought about that for several minutes while the others chattered around him. "I think it's more for me," he told Dumbledore. "I have things about my parents that I want to learn, and if he's not responding, I won't learn them. I'm not really interested in him."

"He probably knows that. So your interest in him isn't a positive force."

"No, I guess you're right. It isn't. What would be a positive force?"

"He had colleagues with whom he was friendly." By this time the others were quiet and paying attention. "Minerva, Filius, and Pomona were certainly three. Of those retired I would also count Max Kettleburn and Sapientia Dawson. There were also muggles in his home town."

"Mrs. Hanson," said Harry. "And she might know of others."

"Interesting," commented Dumbledore, "that you would have discovered that."

"He gave me the clues himself. I just followed them."

"We do have another problem," Hermione said. Everyone looked at her, as she had up to this point been quiet. "There's the Bloxam Compromise. Professor Snape may know about that."

Ron prompted her, "And this Bloxam Compromise is…?"

"In 1472, the wizarding world abolished capital punishment. Three years later, the first prison was built on Och Saban island, that later became known as Azkaban. The first person sentenced there for life was Dickon Bloxam, who in 1487 was found guilty of seventy-two unprovoked assaults against muggles. He protested that life imprisonment was a crueler punishment than hanging and demanded to be executed. The Bloxam Compromise is a law that allows a person sentenced for life to opt for execution instead. It hasn't been invoked for a hundred thirty seven years – the last one was in 1861 when Barney Lovegood successfully insisted that he be allowed to drink poison rather than be incarcerated for life."

"Was he related to Luna?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea," Hermione replied. "Given the name, I suppose so. The point is, the law is still on the books. Professor Snape may or may not know about it, but we need to be prepared."

"You don't really think Severus would choose to die, do you?" Flitwick asked.

"He might," said McGonagall, "if he saw no viable future. I hadn't thought about it before, but what's been keeping him going all these years? Destroying Voldemort. Now it's been done. What does he have to look to in the future?" There was no answer, so McGonagall continued. "If there is no future, you concentrate on unfinished business in the past. I for one am pleased that we are prepared for Dickon Bloxam and his compromise."

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was working overtime trying to prepare the paperwork for the mass of trials of all the Death Eaters that had been rounded up during and after the Battle of Hogwarts. It would be weeks before everything was ready. Robards managed, however, to have Snape's trial moved forward to Monday, June twenty-ninth. With just over a week to work in, Harry and his crew labored to gather as much information as they could.

On Sunday the twenty-eighth, Robards and Shacklebolt joined the Hogwarts team in the headmaster's office. Shacklebolt in particular looked highly satisfied. He was carrying a piece of parchment rolled up like a scroll and tied with a red ribbon. "We got it at an emergency meeting last night, Minerva" he told Professor McGonagall, handing her the scroll.

"Me?" was all McGonagall said, taking the scroll and unrolling it as the others crowded around her offering congratulations. The certificate of appointment was ornate and flowery in its language, meant to be framed and hung on the wall of the office. "There," McGonagall said, holding the parchment up to the view of the portraits, "no more back talk."

"Does he know?" Harry asked.

"We didn't think it was necessary to tell him yet," Shacklebolt replied. "We don't know what his plans are for the trial, but if he intends to employ the fact that he's headmaster, we'd rather have this take him by surprise so that he has as little time as possible to think of new tactics."

"Though truth be told," said Robards, "he doesn't seem to be preparing anything. Sometimes it's hard to tell if he's sleeping or just staring at the wall. We'll make sure he's neat and presentable tomorrow, but if he doesn't resume eating soon, we'll have to force-feed him."

"Couldn't you use that as grounds for a hearing on his competence?" Arthur Weasley asked. "It seems to me that refusing to eat…"

"That's an idea," said Robards, smiling at the thought. "I'll tell him if he won't eat, I get to appoint a public defender."

"Who's prosecuting?"

"I am," Robards laughed. "It'll be like old times."

They spent the afternoon exchanging information and ideas, and then Shacklebolt and Robards returned to London while the rest went down to the Great Hall where the house-elves had a grand meal ready for them.

"Seems a shame, us eating stuff like this while the professor's going hungry," said George, sticking a fork into his chicken Kiev and watching the melted butter spurt out.

"Would you like me to send it back and let you go hungry?" McGonagall challenged him, causing George to grin in response and shake his head.

"I don't feel that sorry for him," he countered, shoving a forkful of the chicken into his mouth.

"You don't seem too worried," Harry said to Hagrid, who was sitting next to him.

"I am, but not over much," said Hagrid. "That lad's been going off his feed every time he gets upset about something ever since he first come here. Robards'll make sure he eats. It's the 'neat and presentable' part I'd like to peek in on. He's like t' throw tantrums if ya cross him. Robards is going t' have his hands full tomorrow morning."

"Tantrums?" George's eyes glowed. "Do tell, Hagrid."

"Hard to describe," said Hagrid. "Harder to believe less'n ya saw it yerself. Sorta like a short, dark tornado." George grinned.

Harry suddenly had a thought. He pulled Dumbledore's portrait out of his pocket. "Professor," he asked. "Now that Professor Snape isn't headmaster anymore, could you tell me what his patronus looks like?"

Dumbledore smiled. "It used to be a fox," he said. "But sometime during the last two years it changed. Now it is a fallow doe, just like your mother's used to be."

"Thank you," Harry smiled back. "You don't happen to know what made it change, do you?"

"I am afraid I do not. In fact, until he went to take Gryffindor's sword to you in the Forest of Dean, I myself was not aware that it had changed. I do not think he wanted anyone to know."

They did not tarry over dinner, but left early in order to get a good night's rest in preparation for the trial the next day.

At a quarter to nine the following morning, Harry was ushered into the chamber of the Wizengamot in the Ministry of Magic where he'd had his own hearing in August 1995. The chamber had been altered for Snape's trial and now contained a visitor's gallery where a large number of witches and wizards were seated including, Harry was pleased to note, all the members of his committee and, less pleasantly, members of the press, including Rita Skeeter. Ms. Skeeter was in the midst of a heated debate with a court official concerning the presence of her photographer. As Harry watched curiously, the photographer was escorted from the chamber leaving the defeated Rita sitting in a huff by herself.

"You're with us, Harry," came Robards's voice behind him, and Harry followed him over to the Prosecution benches. "We've gotten you a position as an intern legal aide. You can even cross-examine if we want you to."

"I thought I was a witness." Harry had to speak fairly loudly, for the chamber was noisy with scores of people talking.

"We don't need you as a witness. We have someone else to cover that."

"Professor Snape isn't going to like this."

"That's his problem. There isn't anything he can do about it. You probably should know he's in a foul mood. He wasn't at all pleased with us this morning."

The hubbub in court rose suddenly in volume, and both Harry and Robards turned toward the entrance to watch Snape enter, escorted by aurors. Since he was also Defense counsel, he did not have to sit in the accused's chair, but instead walked over to the Defense bench. He was dressed, like Robards, in formal court attire – a belted black medieval gown with a black robe over it and a black biretta on his head. It was very much like the old-fashioned Hogwarts uniform of his youth minus the house colors. Thin and ascetic-looking, he had the air of a priest or monk facing martyrdom for his beliefs.

At that moment, Snape noticed Harry standing next to Robards, and a look of disbelief and anger flashed across his features, but he said nothing. A moment later, all were called to rise as the judges and the senior members of the Wizengamot took their places. Then all were seated again.

Judge Finch began the proceedings. "We are gathered here in the matter of The Wizarding World versus Severus Snape, who has been charged with three counts of murder, two counts of being an accessory to murder, one count of violation of parole, seven counts of conspiracy to commit treason, and one count of escaping lawful judicial custody. The prosecution has asked that the charges be considered a package, citing appropriate precedents and providing the court with ample justification. The defendant has pleaded guilty to all but one of the murder charges, thus bringing the charges to trial as a whole. Does the defendant wish to alter his plea?"

Snape rose. "No, Your Honor. The plea stands unaltered. However, the defense again wishes to petition the court that the proceedings be closed to the general public…"

A murmur of protest greeted this request, which the judge gaveled to silence. "The previous decision of the court stands. The proceedings will be open."

"In that case, Your Honor, the Defense wishes to protest the presence in court of a person who is a witness to one of the charges."

"And who might that be?" Judge Finch asked.

"Mr. Harry James Potter."

Robards rose. "Your Honor, the Prosecution will not be calling Mr. Potter as a witness. He is here as a legal intern. The proper papers have been filed and are with the court."

"Noted," said Judge Finch. "Mr. Potter will stay. Are there any other motions from the Defense? No? Then the Prosecution may proceed with its case."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Robards continued. "The Prosecution wishes the court to note that all of the charges against the defendant spring from the defendant's supposed allegiance to the now deceased half-blood wizard named Tom Marvolo Riddle, who for many years went under the alias of Lord Voldemort. The essence of Riddle's campaign to take over the wizarding world lay in his claim that wizarding blood and muggle blood are incompatible, that muggles are attempting to take over and destroy the wizarding world, and that all persons who show sympathy with either muggles or muggle-born witches and wizards are _ipso facto_ enemies of the true wizarding blood. The Prosecution would therefore like to open its case by demonstrating to the court the true nature of the defendant's attitude toward muggles and muggle-born witches and wizards."

Snape was watching Robards carefully, clearly not happy with the initial statements, but not yet having anything he could object to. That was about to change.

"I call as the Prosecution's first witness," Robards said calmly, "Mrs. Katherine Hanson."

"I object!" Snape called out, rising immediately to his feet. "Mrs. Hanson is a muggle, and it is against wizarding law for her to appear in this court!" The end of his sentence was drowned in the outcry from the spectators, and Judge Finch was banging his gavel in an attempt to restore order.

"Silence!" Judge Finch bellowed. "The courtroom will come to order or we will clear the court!"

"Your Honor!" Snape shouted from the Defense bench. "The Defense requests that for the sake of order the court be cleared for the rest of the trial!"

"Your Honor!" Robards yelled in his turn. "The Prosecution maintains its assertion that the proceedings should be open to the public!"

"The court is aware," Judge Finch pronounced as the tumult lessened, "of the identity of the witness. The Prosecution has requested this witness, and she has been approved."

In the end, it was curiosity that prevailed, and the courtroom became quiet. The bailiff escorted Mrs. Hanson to the witness box. Mrs. Hanson seemed quite entranced by her surroundings, staring around her as if she was at a circus. The court seemed equally entranced by her. She was short, plump, and matronly, and most clearly not a witch.

Robards approached her with respect. "Ma'am," he said, "would you be so kind as to identify yourself to the court and tell us your relationship to the accused?"

"Love ya, dear, I'm Katherine Hanson, a widow from the Pendle district in Lancashire, and if by the accused you mean Russ over there, well I've known him ever since he was a baby. I was good friends with his mum 'til she died in the car accident."

"Do you understand, ma'am, what this place is and what you're doing here?"

"Well, they told me you were witches. T' be honest, I thought that was a bit of a giggle, but now I'm here I'm thinking maybe it isn't so strange. That young man Harry over there, he told me you wanted me t' tell you about Russ, and then you'd do something so I won't remember. I wasn't sure about it at first, but then he got me worrying about Russ, so here I am."

"Are you aware that the defendant's name is Severus?"

"I didn't ever think about it. He's always been Russ t' me. I remember the first time his mum asked me t' sit with him, he hid himself the whole day in a cupboard he was so upset she'd gone and left him. He couldn't have been three yet, the little darling. And then when he got older, when his parents needed some time alone, or his dad was poorly, well they'd send him over t' me for the night. We'd watch the telly and play or talk. He was always so sweet and polite…" She seemed oblivious to the fact that Snape was now cradling his head in his hands.

"Did you know that he was a wizard? Did you have any idea he had magical blood?"

"Russ? Never. A perfectly normal little boy. Bright, of course. Very bright. I always knew he'd be something of a scientist."

"Do you still see him from time to time?"

"Well of course! He lives in the same house, and when he's not teaching up in that posh school in Scotland, he comes back home t' his own people. He helps me bring my groceries home from the market, and I hear he's not above drinking a pint with his dad's old chums at the local. A good lad who ain't got above himself."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hanson," said Robards. "The Prosecution reserves the right to revisit this witness."

"You may cross-examine," Judge Finch told Snape.

Snape got slowly to his feet. "Good morning, Mrs. Hanson," he said to the muggle lady.

"Morning, Russ," she replied. "We missed you at Christmas and Easter this last year. I hope everything's all right."

"Everything's fine. Tell me, when you spoke with this personable young gentleman about coming here, did he happen to tell you how your memories about me were going to help?"

Mrs. Hanson looked concerned. "He didn't give any particulars, no. Just that you were in a difficult spot."

"Good. Mrs. Hanson, do you recall if I ever killed anything as a boy? Anything?"

"Small animals is all," Mrs. Hanson said. "That was when…"

"Excellent. We do not need to go into particulars. Do you recall a time when I was angry with nearby villagers and said they were just as bad…"

"As you'd been told they were…"

"And that I wished…"

"They would all die. But that was when…"

"You have been of invaluable assistance, Mrs. Hanson. No further questions."

"If it may please the court," said Robards, rising almost lazily, "the Prosecution has more questions."

After waiting for Snape to sit down, Robards continued. "Tell me, Mrs. Hanson," he asked, "these small animals that were killed. What sort of animals were they?"

"Rabbits, mostly," the muggle woman replied. "Some birds. His dad'd lost his job, you see, and they needed meat on the table."

"So he killed animals for food. Did you ever know him to kill for pleasure?'

"Russ? Love ya, no sir."

"What about these people he wished dead?"

"That was after his gram… his grandmother died. A crowd attacked her house, and she died in the fire. They said she was killed for a witch." Mrs. Hanson thought for a moment. "I guess I did hear about the magic," she admitted, "but I always thought it was just simples and home remedies. Not real magic, you know."

"The people who attacked Professor Snape's grandmother, did they ever say why they'd done it?"

"That was the strangest part. They didn't know. I mean, they knew they'd done it, but they couldn't ever explain why. It just came over them sudden."

Harry glanced around the chamber, where members of the Wizengamot and spectators were nodding, recognizing the description of an Imperius Curse. Snape's face, however, was utterly impassive.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hanson," said Robards. "The Prosecution has no more questions for the moment."

"Defense?" Judge Finch asked. "No? Then the witness may step down. We ask that you wait outside until we're sure we don't need you anymore." As Mrs. Hanson left the chamber, the Judge motioned to Robards and Snape. "Approach the bench, gentlemen."

Robards and Snape didn't look at each other as they neared the high bench where the three judges sat. "Remind me," Judge Finch said firmly, "which of you is the Prosecution, and which is the Defense. Because I'm dashed if I have a clue what you're prosecuting or what you're defending."

"Your Honor will recall," Robards suggested diffidently, "the idea the Prosecution wished to petition for just before the trial."

"The Defense demands to be party to all negotiations between the Prosecution and the Bench," Snape said at once.

Judge Finch conferred briefly with his colleagues, then signaled for order with his gavel. "There will be a brief recess for consultation in chambers," he announced. "Will both legal teams please proceed to my chambers and await us there."

"Your Honor," Snape requested, "could we not meet one on one, just the two of us?"

Judge Finch peered over his glasses. "It is not Mr. Robards fault, Professor, that you choose not to work with a team. I cannot penalize him for that." He rose and, with Judges Hazelwood and Gamp, left to speak privately before going to Judge Finch's chambers.

In actuality, only three people entered the Judge's chambers to meet with Finch, Hazelwood, and Gamp. They were Snape, Robards, and Harry.

"What is he doing here?" Snap snapped at Robards as Harry strode into the room. "You have no business bringing him into this!"

"He's a legal intern for the Department," Robards replied with a shrug. "Besides, he can give a rather unique perspective on the issue."

"Get him out of here. I refuse to even entertain the thought of cooperating with you if you do not get him out of here."

Robards regarded Snape for a moment. "That may work out quite well," he said. "Let's see how it goes."

They stopped talking then, for the judges were entering the chamber. "Everyone sit down," said Finch. "Make yourselves comfortable. Now, Mr. Robards, about the motion you raised yesterday, the one that you did not pursue."

"Yes, Your Honor. The Prosecution is greatly concerned not only that the law be satisfied with regard to the commission of certain acts, it also wishes justice to prevail regarding the accused. As the court has now been made aware by the accused's own actions, this might not happen. The Prosecution is preparing papers requesting that the accused be examined to determine if he is mentally and emotionally competent to act as his own legal counsel."

Before Robards finished, Snape was rising to his feet, cold anger radiating from every inch of his body.

"You have no right to interfere with my life!" Snape shouted at Robards, his slender frame trembling with suppressed fury.

"No?" Robards's eyebrows shot up his forehead in mock surprise. "Let me see… You committed actions that resulted in the death of Albus Dumbledore, the circumstances of which are not yet fully known… Don't interrupt, Severus. You pleaded guilty, remember? You then committed actions which resulted in the death of Alastor Moody, the circumstances also not fully known. Oh, my goodness! I'm the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Severus, for crying out loud! Who has a better right?"

"Can we backtrack a bit here?" asked Judge Hazelwood. "I've read the briefs, but there seems to be a lot left out. Just exactly what is the Prosecution attempting to prove, and why is the Defense resisting legal moves that would appear to benefit the Defense?"

"I can answer the first question," Robards told her, "but I am equally at a loss with regard to the second. Our position is that crimes have been committed. To select a specific example, Professor Dumbledore was thrown from a tower and died, not necessarily in that order. We have seven witnesses to that fact, including the Defendant, who does not deny the event or his own role in it. The law must be satisfied. The case must come to trial. The Prosecution is, however, also aware that there are mitigating circumstances in the case that warrant investigation and consideration. Up until this weekend, however, testimony concerning those mitigating circumstances rested wholly within the power of the accused…"

"What do you mean, 'up until this weekend?'" Snape demanded, suddenly and obviously on his guard.

"Severus, the Board of Governors met this weekend, and Minerva McGonagall has been named Headmistress of Hogwarts. The portraits are now under her control."

"The fact that the portraits are under anyone's control means their testimony is contaminated."

"Think, Severus," Robards spoke slowly, as if to a child. "What percentage of wizarding Britain studied Transfiguration under Professor McGonagall over the last… forty-one and a half years? If you accuse Minerva of tampering with a witness… Nobody will believe you. Nobody will believe anything you say."

Snape stood frozen, staring at Robards.

"Let me get this straight," said Judge Gamp. "Professor, did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"That isn't the charge," Snape replied.

"You're right," Robards said quietly. "Did you perform actions that encompassed the death of Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"But you're not sure you killed him."

Snape was silent.

Judge Hazelwood leaned forward. "Was this action willful."

"Willful," Snape replied. "Deliberate. Intentional. Voluntary. Yes."

"Obstinately and perversely self-willed?" said Judge Hazelwood.

Snape was again silent.

"What about malice aforethought?" asked Judge Gamp.

"Malice," said Snape quietly, "is the intent to commit an unlawful act without legal justification."

"Most would say it is the desire to see another suffer," interjected Judge Finch.

"It is nothing to me what most would say. Check a dictionary. Malice can be defined…"

"You did a lot of homework," Robards said.

"Wait," said Judge Hazelwood, "what about the aforethought part?"

"It had been planned for a long time," Snape answered.

"Yes," said Robards, "but by whom?" When Snape remained silent, Robards spoke to the judges. "You see, he has gone far beyond what a person accused of a crime would normally do. He has found justification for pleading guilty that would not require that he lie to the court. What about Moody, Severus? Any aforethought there?"

"I thought about it before I did it."

"For how long?"

"The law doesn't specify a time limit."

"So two seconds could still be aforethought?" Robards grinned then, for Snape again remained obstinately silent.

Judge Finch summoned a clerk. "Please inform the bailiff that we are involved in a matter of order, and that the court is recessed until tomorrow morning. It's going to take at least that long to sort this out." After the clerk had left, the judge turned to Snape. "It is the duty of the counsel for the Defense to do everything legally in his power to provide the accused with the best defense possible. The court has been alerted to the fact that you, as counsel for the Defense have not been providing your client with the best defense possible. What do you have to say for yourself that would cause us not to appoint a public defender to this case?"

"Give me a moment to consult with my client," Snape said, and retreated into a corner where he sat with his head rested on his folded arms on the table, while behind him the others exchanged concerned glances.

"I'm beginning to see what you mean," whispered Judge Finch to Robards. "There's something not quite hitting on all cylinders there."

The tone of the judge's voice irritated Harry for reasons he couldn't quite explain, but he nonetheless entered the conversation. "It isn't that. I think it's the occlumency."

"There are many people who have mastered the skill of occlumency," countered the judge. "They do not universally manifest irrational behavior."

"Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid say he was born with it. It's always been part of him."

"Nonsense," replied Judge Finch. "The congenital occlumens doesn't exist."

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't agree with you. Would you like to talk to him?" Harry pulled the portrait out of his pocket and showed it to the judge.

"Why don't you explain it to me instead? You act as if you understand what's going on."

"I don't really understand it," Harry admitted, "but Professor Snape tried to explain it to me once… Well no, several times. I was pretty thick. I didn't get it then. What I understand is this. He can close himself off to anything he wants to – any memory, any emotion, any thought. He just locks it away in some cupboard someplace in his brain. Then he can act as if it doesn't exist. He used it against Voldemort – hiding things he didn't want seen and showing things he wanted seen. He's doing that now – separating the self that's on trial from the self that's the lawyer. It's just something his brain does."

"Harry," Robards said carefully, "are you trying to keep Professor Snape from being examined for incompetence? Because if you are, you're ensuring that he goes to Azkaban."

"I don't think that's the problem," said Harry. "I think he expects to die. I think he's always expected to die; he's never looked past getting rid of Voldemort. At Hogwarts when it looked like they'd kill him, he didn't say anything. In the cave when we were caught by the tide, he was telling me how to vanish his corpse so I could get out just as if it was a lesson in Potions class. I mean, now that Voldemort's gone, I'm thinking about my future and how great things are going to be, but I don't think he sees a future."

"I see." Judge Finch looked across the room. "He is showing signs of severe depression. We'll talk to him first, but if the response isn't adequate, I'm sending to St. Mungo's for a team to evaluate him." He raised his voice slightly. "Professor Snape, would you approach the bench?"

Snape rose and returned to the group. The doors behind his eyes were closed and empty. "Yes, Your Honor," he said passively.

"Professor, I wish you to explain to me why you want favorable information concerning your actions suppressed. Information that could keep you out of Azkaban."

Snape blinked, his brows coming together in thought. "My client…" he began, but the judge raised a hand to stop him.

"I would prefer that you spoke in the first person," he said.

There was a pause during which Harry could almost feel the doors opening and closing as some thoughts were locked away and others surfaced. He could sense Snape's exhaustion, and the effort this relatively simple action cost him.

With a sigh Snape looked up at the judge. "The information the Prosecution wishes to make public would prevent my going under cover again should the need arise. We don't know what the future holds."

"Professor, Lord Voldemort is dead."

"That's what they said before. It wasn't true then. We can't be sure it's true now."

"And you would rather spend years in Azkaban than chance Lord Voldemort's still being alive?"

Snape took a deep breath. "Could you guarantee that even with the mitigating circumstances I wouldn't be sent to Azkaban? Not even for three months? Not even for three days?"

"Are you afraid of reprisals?" asked Judge Finch.

"Of course not," Snape replied without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "I only spent four years betraying the Dark Lord and all my colleagues into the hands of their enemies. Why would that merit reprisals?"

"I think," said Judge Gamp, "that if the Prosecution concurs, some guarantee could be made to Professor Snape that in case a short period of incarceration was required by the law, it would not be in Azkaban."

"The airless, sunless bowels of the Ministry of Magic?" Snape's lip curled in a sneer of distaste. "I think not. I have it on good authority that even in the worst days of the dementors, even the most strictly guarded of the prisoners was allowed a daily view of the sea at Azkaban."

"What was the source of this information?" inquired Judge Hazelwood.

Snape gazed at her for a moment, then recited, " Bella Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood…"

"Thank you, Professor. That is quite sufficient," advised Judge Finch. "Are you indeed telling us that you would prefer a lifetime of daily restricted glimpses of the sea to three months in a Ministry holding cell and freedom after that?"

"I was unaware that the decision rested in my hands."

At that moment, a shining light illumined Harry's mind, and a wonderful clarity enhanced his perception. With his new-found vision, he held himself poised and ready, and then yipped as if he'd been stung. In the instant when all eyes turned to him, Harry managed to lock his gaze with Snape's for a heartbeat. Then the older man looked away, but Harry had what he wanted. "Mr. Robards," he said softly, "can we ask for some time to confer together?"

"Certainly," Robards said, and advised the judges that the two of them would step into the corridor for a few minutes' private consultation. "Well," he asked when they were alone outside the chamber, "what did you get?"

"You know what I was doing?"

"Harry, I've been an auror for longer than you've been alive. I know a legilimency contact when I see one. I am surprised he let you startle him into being open enough to read, though."

"He can't help it. I have my mother's eyes."

"Now you have intrigued me, but I'll withhold questions for the moment. What did you see?"

"There were two things, but they weren't real pictures or memories – more like scenes from a dream, a kind of symbolic image. One of them's older than the other. In that one I'm on a ship being driven onto the rocks by a storm."

"It's a metaphoric image. It happens when the subject is shielding his surface thoughts, but the underlying emotional issues come through. Did you notice any details?"

Harry closed his eyes, concentrating. "Yeah. The sails are ripped and the rudder broken. There's a lighthouse on the cliff, too, but it's dark and useless. One strong emotional reaction I have is that it would be safer to go back out into the storm than crash on the rocks, but with the sails and rudder gone that isn't possible anymore."

"What was the second image?"

"It's got a cliff, too, but it's like I'm on the top of the cliff, and there's a tiger behind me. That's it, that's all the options. And I know that the cliff will be faster and less painful than the tiger."

"No safe havens anywhere? No help on the horizon at all?"

"No, sir. But I could tell which one he prefers. He prefers the cliff and the tiger. At least there, there's something he can choose to do. He can choose to jump off the cliff. The ship is helpless – it has no control of the situation at all."

Robards pondered what Harry had told him. "The storm is Voldemort," he said. "That's pretty obvious. Fighting Voldemort, there was always the chance of being killed, but with skill there was also the chance of survival. I'm guessing the missing sails, rudder, and lighthouse are Dumbledore, maybe a little of Moody, too, not being there any more. The rocks and the tiger are… the Ministry? the public? his future or lack of it? I'm not sure. The jump off the cliff, of course, is the quick, permanent solution of Azkaban."

"What do we do?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. I hadn't counted on his emotional state being so fragile, so unstable. An outcome of the pressure he's been under, I suppose. I'm going to have to ask for a full psychiatric profile. We have to bring St. Mungo's into this."

"Can I try something else first?" Harry asked. A few minutes later, with Robards's permission, he was apparating to Hogwarts to get Hagrid.

xxxxxxxxxx


	10. Chapter 10

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 10**

Snape was sitting at the small table in the corner with his head resting on his arms when Robards quietly opened the door to the chamber and let Hagrid look in. The three judges were silent. Snape didn't appear to notice. Back in the corridor, the door again closed, Robards, Harry, and Hagrid conferred.

"That's exactly how he looked that day he burned his bridges with You-Know-Who and come to me 'cause he didn't have nowhere else to run to," said Hagrid softly.

"What was his mental state at the time?" Robards asked.

"Kinda hopeless like. Didn't see no future at all. I think he was 'specting to die."

"He can't be expecting to die now," Harry pointed out. "Not with everyone doing their best to help him. It's just that he won't take the help."

"Maybe 'cause he don't see no future. I mean, after you do all this helping, where's he going to go?"

"Back to Hogwarts."

Hagrid chuckled. "I thought you'd figured out by now that he hates teaching. That ain't no future."

"He was only there because the court gave Dumbledore custody," Robards pointed out. "Hagrid, what would he have done after he graduated from Hogwarts if he hadn't become a Death Eater?"

"If his gram 'd still been alive, he mighta gone back home t' be a local potions brewer and healer like her. When that mob killed her, he went t' You-Know-Who. Otherwise he'd 've just drifted. You-Know-Who's the one showed him his talents were worth something."

"I don't believe that," said Harry. "He could've done almost anything."

"Ya live in a different world, Harry. That great lump Dursley may be a horse's behind, but he's management same as your mum's family. Ya got options when y're management. Back then, laboring class didn't rise above itself. An' he didn't have no wizarding contacts neither 'cept with You-Know-Who. It'd never 've entered his head t' try for the Ministry or anything like that. He was a laborer's son. He still don't look high when he's studying his options, even today."

"Right now," said Robards, "he's working on getting himself sent to Azkaban. Maybe it is because he doesn't see a future in anything else. We can work on finding him other options, but first we have to eliminate Azkaban as one of them."

"I can do that," said Hagrid.

Snape looked up when the three walked in, and he did not seem at all pleased to see Hagrid lumber through the doorway. "Would yer honors mind if I had a few words with the accused?" Hagrid asked, and before Snape had time to protest, Harry, Robards, and all three judges were leaving the room.

"Feel free to make use of the chamber," Judge Finch said on the way out, as Snape rose to his feet. Snape tried to follow them out, but was stopped by Hagrid's great bulk.

"Ya better get used t' the fact that ya ain't going nowhere 'til I've had my say," Hagrid said mildly. "Here we were all told there was a recess 'til tomorrow, 'n I was going t' do some gardening, but I get word y're being pigheaded again 'n I got t' come back. Ya better set yerself down. I don't wanta hafta sit on ya."

"This is none of your business, Hagrid," Snape said testily, but he sat down as ordered.

"I got a lot invested in ya for about the last twenty-six years. I think it is my business. They're telling me y're angling for a one-way ticket north."

"What's wrong with that? I've been through a lot in the past few years, and the prospect of being somewhere where I don't have to do anything, and my meals are provided is more than a little attractive right now."

"You got this idea Azkaban's a pleasure resort, don't ya?"

"The dementors are gone, and they're not going to bring them back."

"Ya think dementors was all there was wrong with Azkaban? Azkaban was there hundreds o' years before they decided t' staff the place with dementors, 'n it ain't never been no pleasure resort. Problem is, ya don't know what it's like 'cause ya ain't never been there." Hagrid pulled over a bench and sat facing Snape. "I spent a wee bit o' time there 'bout five years ago, 'n never saw a hair of a dementor. Now look at me."

Snape turned his head away and stared at the wall.

Hagrid leaned back on the bench. "I ain't never knowed ya t' go into anything without ya prepared for it first. If y're set on going t' Azkaban, ya'd better start getting prepared. I got information ya need, and ya got t' look at me to get it."

"Humpf," Hagrid grunted when Snape still wouldn't move. "I got somewhat t' show ya, and y're gonna look at it." He reached out a great paw, laid a finger on the side of Snape's jaw, and gently turned his head so that their eyes met. Snape didn't resist. "Read me," Hagrid commanded. With the first scene, Snape tried to pull away, but Hagrid held him firmly as the memories rose in a collage of brutality. Not one memory contained a dementor.

When the images ceased, Hagrid released Snape, who sat staring down at his hands in shock. "It's funny," Hagrid said, for all the world as if they were having a cuppa in a tea shop, "how everybody knows Azkaban is full of Death Eaters, 'n they forget about all the other lowlife 'n what they're in there for – murder, rape, assault, extortion – ya really don't wanta be there. Now me, they didn't none of 'em bother me much seeing how big I am, but you – y're a skinny little runt 'n fair game. And ya can't use magic, remember. I seem to recall as how ya never were very good at physical confrontation. And if ya get everybody all upset about how ya killed Professor Dumbledore, ain't none of the guards gonna help ya out."

"You never talked about this before," Snape whispered.

"Didn't make for pleasant mealtime conversation," said Hagrid with a shrug. "Ya want I should tell the judges we're finished?"

"You probably should," Snape sighed, "unless there was something else you wanted to tell me."

"Are ya gonna behave?"

"Believe me," said Snape, "I do not want to go to Azkaban."

"Y're a sensible lad. I knew ya'd see reason."

They stood as first Robards and Harry and then the judges reentered the chamber, Snape staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched slightly. Harry watched him and Hagrid, and it seemed to him that Hagrid was very worried.

"Professor Snape," said Judge Finch, "have we reached some sort of accommodation?"

"Yes, your Honor," Snape said quietly. "I'm prepared now to accept a public defender."

"You have no solicitor of your own?"

"No, your Honor."

"Tony Savage is legally qualified if there's no objection to him," Robards said. "He's already familiar with the case."

"Do you accept Mr. Savage to defend you?" the judge asked Snape.

Snape nodded.

"Excellent. It's lunchtime, so I suggest that Mr. Savage meet with the defendant at three this afternoon. If they need more time, we can postpone the resumption of the trial for another day. If there's nothing else, the guards can escort the defendant back to his cell."

Snape left, but Harry, Hagrid, and Robards stayed to talk. "How did you get him to change his mind so quickly?" Harry asked.

"Scared him," said Hagrid. "Made him stop thinking 'bout dementors 'n focus on the fact the other prisoners can be just as dangerous, maybe more so. Ya eat together, exercise together, sometimes bunk together… all the guards hafta do is point him out – that's the one killed Dumbledore – 'n turn a blind eye. They didn't bother me none while I was there, but I saw a lot. I let him see it, too."

"Thank goodness," said Robards. "Now maybe we can make some progress in the trial."

"Can I stay here?" Hagrid asked. "He ain't well. He's all closed in on hisself, fretting hisself about something – I can guess a lot of it – and he's beginning to crack. I'd like t' be close."

"We'll give you a room," said Robards. "Would the two of you join me for lunch? We've a rather good employee cafeteria…"

Snape, meanwhile, returned to his cell where he lay down, curled on his left side, staring at the wall…

_He was in an old house, looking through room after musty room, hunting for a place to hide the tiger cub that clawed and tore at his arm. Door by door he searched, each opening into a shabby chamber with dilapidated poster beds and cold fireplaces, spider webs and the scurrying of rats. At one door only did he pause, for he knew Lily was in the room, and he didn't want her to see the cub. He left that door unopened._

_Labyrinthine corridors stretched before him in an endless maze of rooms, but there was nowhere to put the cub, the cub that was a cub no longer but a half grown tiger, worrying and chewing on his arm, splashing the walls and carpets with blood._

_Then, suddenly, there was a staircase, a staircase he didn't recognize, and he followed it down underground to a damp room where the roots of trees pierced the walls and coiled like snakes on the floor. There he stopped, for there, half hidden by the roots, was another door, a door he'd never seen before, a door he hadn't known existed._

_As he stretched his hand toward the knob, he was filled with a nameless dread…_

xxxxxxxxxx

It was Dawlish who came rushing into the cafeteria looking for Robards. "You have to come. He's trying to kill himself."

None of the three needed to ask who Dawlish was talking about. They were up at once, sprinting for the door and the elevators.

The corridor outside Snape's cell was crowded with people, and no wonder, for from inside they could hear banging and thumping, and a strange, keening wail that Harry realized with horror must be coming from Snape. The door was open, aurors were already within, but Hagrid asked no one's leave. He pushed his way through the press of people and into the little apartment. "Leave him!" Harry could hear Hagrid shouting. "Give him to me. I'll make sure he don't hurt hisself!"

It took Harry and Robards longer to wade through the crowd and into the apartment. By that time, Hagrid was sitting on the floor, one arm holding Snape tightly against his chest, the other hand pinning Snape's hands behind him. Snape was kicking and twisting convulsively. His forehead was scraped and bloody, and there was blood on one of the walls where he'd clearly been banging his head. He was still wailing, like an injured animal.

Hagrid looked up at Robards, his eyes welling with misery. "Ya gotta call St. Mungo's," he said. "He ain't never been quite like this before."

It took the team from St. Mungo's just ten minutes to arrive, during which time the incoherent Snape's struggles didn't abate in the slightest. The healers were in instant agreement.

"We need to sedate him and get him to the hospital," the team leader told Robards. "We can restrain him there, and if necessary keep him sedated for a while." She was an older woman, maybe around McGonagall's age, with soft, curly white hair and large brown eyes.

"Do you really think it's necessary to drug him?" Robards asked.

"Look at him," said the healer kindly. "He's in great emotional pain and distress. Why force him to endure that for hours when we have the means to let him sleep? We have plenty of time to find out what's wrong. He's not going to be going anywhere soon."

Instead of a full body bind, they immobilized Snape's legs and one arm so they could hold his head back and dribble the sedative potion in tiny amounts down his throat. Gradually he relaxed, and then suddenly he was limp and sleeping. A stretcher was waiting to take him up to the street where medical transport brooms would take him to the hospital. Until they knew the cause of Snape's malady, they wouldn't risk floo or apparating.

"Although it does seem possible that it's a mental or nervous breakdown," the healer told Robards, who had the legal right to know since Snape was a prisoner in his custody. "Do you know if he's ever had an episode like this before?"

Robards checked with Hagrid who, after reflection, confirmed that Snape had, indeed, experienced something similar. "It were near seventeen years ago, and he were under a load of pressure then, too. Poppy Pomfrey'll have the records. She had to keep him asleep for several days."

"Were you a witness to that episode as well? What did he do?"

"I was. He tried to jump off the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts. I got there in time to grab him."

"Seventeen years ago…" the healer mused. "The first disappearance of You-Know-Who. There may be a pattern connected with the 'Dark Lord's' removal."

"He was working against Voldemort both times," Harry blurted out, suddenly defensive. "He doesn't miss his 'Dark Lord."

"I didn't say that he did," said the healer. "Only that it might be part of the pattern."

Then they were gone, and Harry and Hagrid were left to make plans to go to St. Mungo's.

"I'll go now," said Hagrid. "I want t' be there when he wakes up. Might do him good seeing someone familiar. You should get some rest 'n let the others know what's happening."

Harry agreed and, after talking things over with Robards for about half an hour, apparated back to the Burrow. The heads of houses joined them from Hogwarts and there he filled the committee, including Dumbledore's portrait, in on what had happened at the Ministry after the trial had been recessed.

"Poor Severus," McGonagall murmured. "Whatever could have set him off like that? Are you sure no one did or said anything to him?"

"As far as anyone knows," said Harry, "he was alone in the room and sleeping. Then just like that he was awake and beating his brains out against the wall." Harry pondered this for a moment. "Like something happened while he was sleeping…" He turned to Dumbledore. "How much exactly do we know about how the brain of an occlumens works?"

Over the next several days it became clear that Snape was indeed trying to kill himself. The first time he woke up, he made it all the way to a fifth floor window before orderlies managed to drag him back to bed. His efforts to get hold of sharp, pointed objects or to tear at his own skin with his fingernails convinced the hospital before the end of the first day that he needed to be constantly restrained. The healers' efforts to isolate the problem was hampered by an unexpected difficulty, one that had Robards apparating to the Burrow on the third day to speak to Harry.

"You read him. Right there in the judge's chambers you read him. And you said something about your mother's eyes. I need you to explain that to me."

Harry and Robards were in the Weasleys' garden. Harry looked off into the distance as he answered. "He and my mom were childhood friends before they went to Hogwarts. I only found that out a couple of weeks ago. I also found out that he was born an occlumens, like I told the judge. He automatically closes down to everyone except that for some reason he could never close down to my mom. Every time he looked in her eyes, all those locked places just opened up. It happens when he looks at me, too, because I have her eyes. It's one of the reasons he doesn't like me around. It makes him vulnerable."

"The staff at St. Mungo's needs you then," said Robards. "They've ruled out anything physiological, so it has to be mental. They've had people trying to read him every time he wakes up, but he just closes them out. It's like trying to read a wall."

"I don't think I want to see whatever it is that's driving the professor crazy," said Harry. "I don't know if I could take it."

"It's the only thing we know of that might help him." Robards paused. "He was your mother's friend. That's worth something, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, it is. He's the only one left who can tell me things about her. I kept thinking about that while he was out there trying to capture the rest of the Death Eaters. If he dies, then I'll never know things about my parents. I suppose it's just as hopeless if he's crazy." Harry thought of Neville then, but at least Neville had a family that could tell him what he wanted to know, and he could visit his parents and hope…

There was really only one thing to do, even if Harry didn't want to have to do it. He steeled himself to face the inevitable, went into the house to tell the Weasleys, particularly Ginny, where he was going, and then apparated with Robards to St. Mungo's.

Snape was in a private room in a secure ward, with Ministry guards at the door who stood aside to let Robards and Harry through. Hagrid was already there, watching over the sleeping Snape like a broody hen.

Harry stood for several minutes looking down at the still figure. He'd always thought of Snape as old, somehow, but with his features relaxed in slumber, the professor looked young. Harry had thought of Professor Lupin as a young man whose troubles had prematurely aged him, and now it struck him that Lupin and Snape were the same age, and that Snape, too, was a young man in his mid thirties.

A healer rose from a chair in the corner of the room. "Are you the legilimens?" he asked, then recognized Harry. "Harry Potter? It's an honor to have you here, sir. You're the legilimens, then? I hope you have better success than I've had."

"What have you seen?" Harry asked, still looking at Snape, noting now the bands that strapped him to the bed, restraining arms and legs as well as torso. There were scratches on Snape's face and neck, and on his arms as well, caused apparently by Snape himself.

"He wakes up slowly, and you can tell he's in distress. It's like someone's holding him down, and he's trying to free himself."

"Someone is holding him down," Harry pointed out, gesturing toward the restraints.

"No, it isn't that. You'll see when it happens. When he opens his eyes, if I'm fast, I get a glimpse of what's in there, like a dark room. But his mind seems to be very compartmentalized, and he shuts me out almost immediately."

"He was born an occlumens."

"Really? I'd always heard… Well, that would explain part of it." The healer paused, for Snape moaned softly. "There. It's beginning. How can I help?"

"I'm not sure. I've never done anything quite like this." Harry remembered what Snape had tried to teach him in his fifth year, and began to consciously empty himself of emotion. How could he know what Snape was feeling if his own feelings masked it? Behind him he could hear Hagrid moaning slightly, too, suffering the pain of those who cannot ease the pain of others.

Snape's head was lolling from side to side as he slowly surfaced from drugged sleep. His hands plucked and snatched at the bedclothes, more and more agitated as each moment passed. The healer was right. The thing he strove to escape from was inside, not the bands that held him to the bed. He cried out, too – short, sharp gasps that occasionally formed the word 'no,' and once, very clearly, 'go away.'

Struggling desperately now, Snape strove with helpless hands to push away the thing he fought. Harry shifted his position so that he could look straight at Snape's face and then, suddenly, Snape's eyes were open and he was looking up, his black eyes staring straight into Harry's green ones.

"Hold his head still," Harry cried to the healer. "Don't let him look away from me!" The healer knelt at the head of the bed, steadying Snape's head with his arms, forcing him to look straight up.

"Hagrid," Harry said next, not taking his eyes from Snape's, "move your chair over here. Take one of his hands." Hagrid obeyed. Harry thought for a moment. "Let your arm rest near his head so he can smell the leather of the coat." Then Harry ignored the other two and focused on Snape's eyes, not prompting any particular picture – just waiting.

_He was in what looked like a large old mansion, with corridors leading off in different directions, doors lining every corridor, closed doors. The corridors were narrow and cramped, with frayed carpets and scarred paneling, and a faint odor of mildew, as if age-old gentility had run afoul of cruel poverty, and was now fading into ruin._

_Metaphors. Dumbledore had said the occlumens mind revealed itself in metaphors. The doors were where things were stored away. Harry tried the door nearest him and was not surprised to find it locked. He glanced around. Which way? But in the metaphoric mind there was no such thing as the wrong way. He began to explore._

_There were spatterings of blood on the walls and floor. Why? And was it old or recent? There was no one to ask, so he continued along the corridors, occasionally trying one of the doors. Everything was sealed._

_The staircase was a sign. In all the house there was no apparent variation except for the staircase. Was there significance to the fact that it went down? Harry followed it to the underground room, damp, cool, and primal. Everywhere invaded by roots. Another sign? The roots had a malevolent feel, as if their pervasiveness was a threat._

_He saw the door, hiding among the roots. Hiding meant fear, but it also meant ambush. It did not matter. It was not his mind. Nothing here could hurt him. He reached forward and opened the door._

_The gale-force wind hurled him backwards, and Harry turned toward the door to go back into the safety of the root-filled room, but there was no door. He was on a cliff, a promontory, battered by storm winds and driving rain. Surf pounded the rocks below, and there was no shelter anywhere. Above the roar of wind and wave, he heard another sound – a howling that had nothing to do with the storm. Blinded by the sheets of rain, Harry groped his way along the cliff in the direction of the shrieks and screams. After a few moments, he could make out a solitary figure standing at the summit of the headland, drenched with rain, buffeted by wind, poised at the very edge, the crashing waves and fatal rocks below him._

_He had found Snape. At the same moment, Harry realized that Snape was not alone._

_Swirling around the cliff, as if part of the storm, was a legion of spectral creatures, spirit and wind themselves, dozens of them, attacking Snape from all sides, dragging at his hair, tearing at his clothing, slashing at his face and arms with razor-sharp fangs and claws. They were hideous creatures, with wild, straggling hair and glaring, evil eyes, leering and cackling at their victim's terror and despair._

_They were trying to push him off the cliff. Snape struggled to keep his footing on the slippery rocks, but it was a losing battle. There were too many of them, and it was all he could do to protect his face from their murderous attacks. He was powerless to fight back. Harry could see it was only a matter of time before Snape would be driven onto the rocks below, but whether that fall was to death or to madness, Harry had no way of knowing._

_Forgetting where he was, Harry charged up the slope to the edge of the cliff, determined to help Snape. It was futile effort, for neither Snape nor the harpies were aware of his presence. It did, however, bring him to a full stop as he came, for a heartbeat of time, face to face with one of the creatures. Harry froze, petrified, for in spite of the wildness, of the maliciousness of the horrible face, it was nonetheless the face of Albus Dumbledore._

_Harry spun around, trying to focus on the terrible spirits. He realized he recognized many of them – Bella and Rodolphus Lestrange, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, Professors Burbage and Quirrell, Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks, Voldemort and, even more horribly, Fred Weasley and Colin Creevey. There were faces he was sure were from the picture Moody had shown him of the original Order of the Phoenix, and others he'd never seen before. And then he saw James and Lily Potter, as ugly, vengeful, and pitiless as the rest._

_Sobbing with his own shock and fear, Harry pulled back from the scene and found himself again in the hospital._

xxxxxxxxxx

"It's called survivor guilt," the matronly healer with the white hair and brown eyes explained, pouring Harry a cup of tea. Her name, it turned out, was Gaia Pennywhistle, and she knew Madam Pomfrey quite well. "Whenever you have some great natural calamity, the ones who survive feel guilty for not having been killed with their friends."

"So it doesn't mean he killed them?"

"Dear me, no. Only that so many are gone – schoolmates, colleagues from both sides, children he taught in his Potions class – he can't cope with the perceived guilt of not dying with them. I imagine the occlumency makes it worse. We owe you a great debt, Mr. Potter. Now that we know what it is, we have a chance to treat it."

xxxxxxxxxx

St. Mungo's forwarded a request to Harry, one that brought the committee together again, for even though Harry possessed the information, he could not answer the question. The hospital, basically, wanted a list of the names of the harpies that Snape saw in his waking nightmare.

"You recognized many of them, Harry," said healer Pennywhistle by floo. "This means that he's not reacting to death in the abstract. He's reacting to the deaths of specific, individual human beings, over the course of nearly three decades. I've been doing my homework, and it looks like the occlumency is a major culprit. If he could have dealt with each death as it occurred, he wouldn't be dealing with this avalanche of deaths now. But he locked each one away, and now they're burying him all at the same time. We need to get him to deal with them one by one, as it should have happened naturally. By the way, do you know what touched it off?"

"Hagrid had just convinced him that he should accept the help he was being offered and not go to Azkaban."

"That's an odd thing to provoke such an episode of self-punishment."

"I'll ask Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore about it. They've known him for a lot longer than I have."

The portrait was vibrating in Harry's pocket even before the floo connection was closed. "I was so pleased to hear you say that," was the first thing Dumbledore said after Harry brought him into the open.

"Say what?"

"You just admitted that I might understand Severus better than you do because I have known him longer. You have come a long way, Harry."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry, not wanting to get into a philosophical debate. "We need to get everybody to Professor McGonagall's office"

"Why there?"

"That's where the pensieve is."

"No, Harry. Minerva does not have a pensieve. The pensieve is…"

"In the headmistress's office."

"Oh. Right. You know, Harry, this being a portrait is not as nice as many people think it is."

"Frankly, sir, I've never met anyone who thought it would be nice to be reduced to a portrait."

There was nothing to say to that, which is probably why the portrait said nothing for a rather long time.

After they were all gathered, and after Harry gave up his memory of Snape's mind to the pensieve, Harry began to wonder if this was really a good idea. It seemed like an invasion of Snape's privacy. It was an invasion of Snape's privacy.

"My, what a shabby place," said Molly Weasley, ignoring the fact that most of her sons were trying to shush her. "It could do with a bit of a cleanup. I mean, basically the house looks sound, but so neglected."

"If I may," Hermione spoke up, then plowed forward without waiting for permission. "We do have to remember that this is a metaphor – at least that's what we've been told. I'd say the house looks more than sound. It was clearly a very comfortable and respectable, even a well-off place once. I'd say this is the wizarding inheritance. Then something happened to make it fall on hard times."

"I'll say," interjected Harry. "He grew up in a working class cottage that's about a hundred years old. It doesn't even have a proper bathroom. The streets are still old cobblestones, and my Aunt Petunia talks like it was the slum of the town."

"Clearly," continued Hermione in her best I-am-giving-a-report voice, "he grew up poor, both economically and in terms of being part of the wizarding world. That's why the house looks shabby. It's a metaphor for his feeling inferior to other wizards."

"I love you dearly," Ron laughed, "but Professor Snape would never think he was inferior to other wizards."

"He might not say so," Hermione sniffed at him, "but that doesn't mean he didn't feel it."

They followed Harry's path through the maze of corridors to the staircase. Hermione had something to say about the lower room as well. "Roots," she nodded in self-confirmation. "Surely the root of whatever problem he has."

There was a time when Harry would have accepted Hermione's evaluation as gospel. More recently he would have challenged her, her sources, and her interpretations. Today, he ignored her. "Get ready for a rough ride," was all he said as his pensieve self opened the half-hidden door.

xxxxxxxxxx

Russ woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar room. He felt warm, comfortable, and curiously relaxed. Turning his head toward the window, he realized where he was because his grandmother – Gra – was pulling the curtains open to let the sun in. She must have redecorated the room since he'd been there last.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Gra asked. "You scared us a bit, you know. You've been quite sick." Her voice was lower than usual, and her eyes were brown, but somehow that didn't bother Russ at all.

"I still feel sleepy. Is it all right if I go back to sleep?"

"In a few minutes. I thought maybe we could talk. About your parents. You remember what happened to them, don't you? The car accident?"

"Mmm," said Russ drowsily. "That's what they wrote on the report. I remember that."

"Do you think something else happened?" Gra came and sat by the bed. Her face was rounder than it usually was, but Russ didn't mind.

"He killed her. That's what the neighbors said."

"How did he do that?"

"Knocked her down the stairs."

"Did he hit her a lot?"

"Only when he was drinking."

"Did he hit you, too?"

"I made him angry."

"I see. But there was a car accident."

"They told me he was taking her to the hospital."

"So he'd been drinking and was driving too fast?"

"Maybe."

"Do you think something else happened?"

"I think she died and he did it on purpose." The two were quiet for a moment. Russ closed his eyes. He felt peaceful and safe there in the cozy bedroom with his grandmother beside him. His father's mother… "Gra," he asked suddenly, eyes open again, "Was Dad like me when he was a boy? Am I like him?"

"I think that's a subject for a completely different conversation. You're sleepy. Shut your eyes. I'll close the curtains. No one will disturb you. I'll come back when you wake up."

"Mmm," Russ replied, already drifting off to sleep.

"That was much easier than I thought it would be," Pennywhistle told Robards a few minutes later. "He seems to have thought I knew his father as a boy. I believe he may have thought I was his grandmother."

"What did you give him? Not just a tranquilizer?"

"We were worried about the occlumency shutting him down too much, so we got an order from Judge Finch to give him a drop of Veritaserum with the Calming Potion. It worked perfectly."

"I hope you got some useful information."

"Oh, yes. We started with the oldest event we could deduce from the list Harry gave us. I was expecting to barely scratch the surface. Instead I got something deep and basic." She smiled at the expression on Robards face. "No, I am not going to tell you what it was. Only that it is not something he was responsible for, I am not surprised that he locked it tightly away, and I am equally unsurprised that it's causing him problems now that it's breaking out." Pennywhistle bade Robards goodbye and went to do her rounds.

Robards went straight to the Ministry to contact Harry.

Knowing that one of Snape's grandmothers resembled healer Pennywhistle helped the Hogwarts committee identify her 'harpy,' as well as guess at the witch grandmother and two men they thought might be uncle and grandfather on the muggle side. The school archives gave names and pictures of other schoolmates, including a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students. One that struck Harry in particular was Regulus Black.

"I wonder if that was why Sirius distrusted Snape so much," he said as he and Ginny walked by the lake that afternoon.

"Maybe he blamed Snape for recruiting his brother into the Death Eaters." She slipped her arm around Harry's. It was comfortable just being together and talking.

_I wonder if Snape ever had anyone he could just be comfortable with and talk to,_ Harry thought, and knew immediately that the person had been his own mother. _I wonder who he had to talk to after she started dating my dad._ To Ginny he said, "Sirius told me in our fourth year that he'd never heard that Snape had even been accused of being a Death Eater. So why would he blame Snape for that?"

"Well, you said that Professor Lupin said that Snape hung around with older students that became Death Eaters. Maybe he was the one who introduced Regulus to the older students."

"Or maybe that's what Sirius thought he did."

They just walked for another minute or two, then Ginny said, "Harry, there are nearly fifty creatures… people… on that cliff. I haven't lost anywhere near that many, but it hurts so much when I think I'll never see them again that sometimes I can't stand it. But fifty? It's too much."

Harry had been pondering the same question. "If you stop to think about it, how many people do we know? If I add up my family, my friends, my own schoolmates, the members of the Order, the people I'll work and associate with during my life – I'll bet it'd add up to way over fifty. If I live long enough, a lot of them will die before me because a lot of them are older than me, some will have accidents, some will have medical problems… but I'll be able to deal with the sorrow one person at a time. Snape's never dealt with it one at a time. He's just locked it away where he doesn't have to deal with it at all. Now it's hitting him all at once. And I think it's more than survivor guilt. I once saw one of Professor Dumbledore's pensieve memories, and in it someone said that two people – Wilkes and Rosier – died during the year before Voldemort fell the first time. We just found out they were Snape's dorm mates, and that was the year he was passing information to Dumbledore. I'll bet he feels he caused the deaths of his own dorm mates."

"Wow," said Ginny, "that's severe. I'd go screaming up the walls, too, if I didn't have my family to support me. I can't imagine going through it with no family, no friends… Where's he going to go? Who's he going to turn to?"

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at her. "That's it!" he yelled. "Hagrid was right! That's the trigger, the thing that touched it off! He was going to go to Azkaban, but now there's no place to go! There's no future; at least none that he can see! Ginny, I have to go back to London."

xxxxxxxxxx

After three more days, St. Mungo's stopped the Veritaserum treatment and reduced the dosage of Calming Potion. The real work began.

"May I call you Severus? Mr. Snape seems so formal."

"No," Snape countered. "You are the jailer; I am the prisoner. I can hardly conceive of a more formal relationship."

Gaia Pennywhistle smiled. "I am a healer, not a jailer…"

"Then release me. Let me go."

"The Ministry of Magic…"

"…is judge and jury. But you hold the key… you're the jailer."

"I assure you, I have no choice."

"Neither does a jailer. He is a jailer nonetheless."

"Very well, let us accept the relationship and proceed. I should like you to tell me your plans for the future."

"Plans are made by people who have futures. To require them of people who don't is cruel and unusual punishment. Were you aware that you possessed the characteristics of a sadist?"

"Sadists enjoy hurting other people. I take no joy in your pain. I'd like you to look one day into the future and tell me where you'll be."

"That's easy. I'll be right here being forced to talk to you."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

Snape paused… a heartbeat… two heartbeats… three… "There are people I'd rather be talking to. Since they'd clearly rather not be talking to me, you'll have to do."

Healer Pennywhistle nodded as if in acknowledgment of praise. "I'm grateful you're willing to tolerate me. I'll try not to be too boring. I noticed you'd been at Hogwarts, as student and as teacher, for nearly two-thirds of your life…"

"Hardly by choice." Snape's hands lay listlessly on the arms of his chair, his body hunched down, his face expressionless. Only his voice showed some life, and that only when he was being sarcastic.

"None of it was your choice?" Pennywhistle asked.

"Children go to the school their parents tell them to go to."

"You would have preferred somewhere else?"

Three more heartbeats, then – "At eleven o'clock in the morning on September 1, 1971, I wanted to board the Hogwarts express. It was only later that I realized what a terrible mistake that had been."

"Why so terrible."

"A career of study at Hogwarts renders one permanently unfit for any kind of gainful employment in the real world."

"Surely there are many jobs a qualified wizard could have…"

"I said the real world."

"Do you mean the muggle world?"

"We live in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. This country has a population in the vicinity of sixty million persons. There are approximately three thousand wizards and witches. You do the math. Oh! Sorry! They don't teach math at Hogwarts! Unless we're being violent and destructive, 'our' world is peripheral and unimportant."

"Was there a career in the muggle world you were interested in?"

Two more heartbeats. "Chemistry. Biochemistry, in fact. For that you need a university education, for which you need A levels in secondary school, for which you need math and science classes. Which Hogwarts doesn't have. Automatically disqualified."

"Wizarding children are not qualified for jobs in the muggle world?"

"The thought is laughable. Wizarding children couldn't be janitors in the muggle world."

"Doesn't Hogwarts have a Muggle Studies course?"

"Even more laughable. Dear children, this is a telephone. Muggles talk to each other by it. How quaint. What do wizards have? They strap a letter to the leg of a bird or they squat in front of a fireplace and stick their head in the fire. Madam Pennywhistle, did you know that telephones are faster and more comfortable to use than anything wizards have? You can sit in an armchair or continue fixing dinner while using one. Muggles have even figured out a way to make them portable so they can contact other muggles from a store, from a bus, just walking through a park… They're now small enough so you can carry one in a jacket pocket. Muggles can buy computers small enough to fit on their desks at home and send each other electronic letters almost instantly. They're much more efficient than wizards are. Why do wizards keep their children ignorant of these things?"

Pennywhistle observed that Snape was now leaning slightly forward in the chair, his hands no longer listless, but emphasizing his words with quick gestures, his face animated and focused on her. "If you could change things," she asked, "what would you do?"

Snape thought for a moment. "We waste too much time on the unnecessary. I can see teaching all our children how to mix potions and medicines to treat illness and heal bruises, but why do I have to teach them how to make a shrinking solution? All they do with it is shrink their siblings. Why not teach chemistry as part of the Potions class? Or general biology as part of Herbology? Make Astronomy an upper level elective and have math and Muggle Studies required from first year, and change the whole curriculum of Muggle Studies to teach wizards how to live in the muggle world instead of avoiding it."

They talked for two hours while Pennywhistle took copious notes. She left only when it was time to serve lunch, and then she went directly to her office to contact Robards by floo. As she knelt on the hearth, she thought how much more pleasant it would be to be able to talk to him while sitting at her desk. Snape did have a point.

Robards appeared in the green flames. "Are you making any progress?" he asked.

"Educational reform," she told him. "He is passionate about educational reform at Hogwarts, and I have to admit that many of his ideas are very good."

"We need to talk," said Robards. "Stand aside, and I'll be there in a minute." A few moments later, he walked out of the fireplace into her office.

The conversations between Robards and the doctors were beginning to bear fruit. Snape's sessions with healer Pennywhistle, and with another healer named Galen Marchbanks, continued through the entire month of July. While they of necessity concentrated on the underlying psychological problem of the dead, they also branched into other things. At the beginning, Snape was uncooperative and snide. Just getting him to talk was sometimes their biggest chore.

"What's that?" Snape demanded in mid July, when healer Marchbanks set a familiar-looking book down on the small stand in the corner of the consulting room. There was a couch next to the stand, but Snape adamantly refused to even sit on it, and the one time Pennywhistle had dared suggest he might be more comfortable lying down, he'd called her "Shrink" for the next three sessions.

"Don't worry," said Marchbanks in regard to the book, "it has nothing to do with you."

"It says 'Algebra' on the cover."

"You have good eyesight. I've been interested in going over with you what it was like to be a student at Hogwarts during the first rise of… ahem… Vol…demort."

"Why are you carrying around a muggle algebra book?"

"I bought it yesterday. Odd buying things in a muggle shop, very odd. I had a bit of trouble with the money. Now if we could get back to Hogwarts…"

"It must have been really difficult for you, having to divide by ten all the time," Snape sneered. "Why did you buy it?"

"Divide by…? Oh. You mean the money. It's not for me. It's for my great-aunt. Now about Hogwarts and the rise of Voldemort… Is something wrong?"

Snape was staring at the young healer quizzically. "Great-aunt? That wouldn't be Griselda Marchbanks, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, it would." Marchbanks did not yet put down his notebook, but he didn't return to the subject of Hogwarts either. The hook of the algebra book had caught its fish.

"Since when has Griselda Marchbanks cared anything about algebra? Does she even know what it's used for?"

"She's a smart woman. She'll figure it out. Though she was interested in the possibility of talking to you about it."

Snape leaned back in his chair, drumming the fingers of his right hand on the chair's arm. "Why doesn't she come here?" he asked finally. "It's not as if I could go to her at the moment."

Marchbanks became very bland and official. "She's not on the list of people you've given permission to visit you."

"Nobody visits me except you, Pennywhistle, and Savage. And I never gave any of you permission."

"We're your healers and he's your legal counsel. We don't need permission. You wouldn't let anyone else come, remember?"

Arms now folded on his chest, Snape contemplated this idea for a moment. The healer was right. He'd refused to allow them to list accepted visitors. Minutes ticked by while he weighed the disadvantage of appearing to surrender against the advantage of having someone besides a healer to talk to. Marchbanks waited patiently.

"I suppose," Snape said finally, "that if she wanted to see me, it would be rude to deny the request."

"So I can put her name on the list?" When Snape nodded, Marchbanks continued. "As long as we're going to revise it, are there any other names you'd like us to add?"

"Nobody wants to visit me."

"On the contrary. You're the one who won't discuss it. Several people have asked. "

"Who?" Snape tried to conceal the interest in his voice, but it was strangely comforting to know that people were interested in his welfare.

"Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout. Rubeus Hagrid. Max Kettleburn. Harry Potter…"

"Absolutely not! I will not have that…"

"All right. All right. But what about the others?"

The half dozen names were admitted, and that afternoon Minerva McGonagall and Griselda Marchbanks arrived at St. Mungo's hospital to discuss, among other more social things, the question of applied mathematics, chemistry, physics, and the Hogwarts curriculum.

Meanwhile, Pennywhistle got hold of Robards, and Snape's trial was rescheduled for the beginning of August.

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_Monday, August 3, 1998 (5 days before the full moon)_

The trial convened. This time Harry Potter sat in the visitors' gallery. This time Tony Savage, Snape's legal counsel, wore the formal, medieval court robes. Snape was brought out just before the judges entered the chamber, and had exchanged his usual frock coat for black cutaway coat and trousers, white shirt with a wing-tip collar, and gray waistcoat and cravat. His hair, though still long, was neat, and he looked quite elegant, in an old-fashioned, muggle sort of way.

The court rose, the judges entered and took their places, everyone was seated, and Snape was brought to the prisoner's chair, where snakelike chains bound his arms.

"Your Honors," said Gawain Robards, rising respectfully, "it is not the Prosecution's contention that this prisoner is dangerous, quite the contrary. We see no practical reason why he needs to be restrained. We would, of course, defer to the bench if the honorable judges feel the symbolism of the dock is important in this case."

The judges glanced at each other in silent communication. "The court has no objection to removing the bonds," said Judge Finch, and the chains unwound themselves and disappeared.

"If it please the court, then," Robards continued, "the Prosecution will proceed with its case." He paused as if to consult his notes, then proceeded. "Gentle witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, perceptive as you are, you do not need me to point out to you that the atmosphere of this trial has altered considerably since last June. In June there was an antagonism between the parties of this trial that has ceased to exist. Many of you will say that it is natural to have antagonism between Prosecution and Defense, but the antagonism of which I speak was of a most unusual nature. It existed because the Prosecution wished to defend the defendant, and the Defense wished to prosecute him."

There was an upwelling of murmurs at this which Robards allowed to die down.

"I shall not deny," he continued, "that actions have been committed that are crimes under the law. The Defense does not contest this. The Defense freely admits it. Here we are in perfect agreement. The Prosecution, however, wishes to take into consideration the motives of the defendant in committing these actions, for the Prosecution sees them as mitigating the culpability of the defendant and, by extension, the severity of the penalty he should incur. The Defendant, on the other hand, has been weighed down by the remorse he has felt over the commission of the actions, and has wished to purge himself of that remorse by accepting the full weight of the penalties the law can require. The Prosecution considers those penalties excessive and unjustified. The defendant has spent the last month consulting with medical and legal professionals, and has agreed to accept the Prosecution's view of the case. You must admit, Ladies and Gentlemen, that this is most unusual, and the results may be well worth the wait.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot, the Prosecution wishes to present before you the circumstances of the first charge, that of willfully and aforethought encompassing the death of Albus Dumbledore. The Wizengamot will note the absence of the words 'with malice.' The Prosecution calls as its first witness, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

The Judge gaveled the suddenly excited spectators to order. All necks craned for a glimpse of Dumbledore. It was, however, not Dumbledore but Minerva McGonagall who came forward.

"Welcome, Professor McGonagall," Robards said. "Would you state for the court your full name and current occupation?"

"I am Minerva McGonagall, and at the moment I am headmistress of Hogwarts."

"You just heard me call Professor Dumbledore to the stand. Why did you respond instead?"

"Professor Dumbledore is dead. What remains of his memory and personality resides in his official portrait in the office of whatever headmaster or mistress may follow him. He is bound to assist the current headmaster. I am now that headmaster. He must do as I instruct him."

"Does that not compromise his testimony?"

"It depends on what I instruct him to do."

Robards called to the bailiff, "Bring in the portrait of Professor Dumbledore." The court erupted again into a subdued babbling as the portrait, brought from the headmaster's office, was carted into the room.

"Albus," said McGonagall, "answer truthfully. Have I given you instructions yet about this trial?"

"No, Minerva," said the portrait, "you haven't."

"Then I now direct you to answer fully and truthfully to the questions Gawain here puts to you."

"I shall do as the headmistress bids."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," said Robards as he stepped in. "Now, Professor Dumbledore, would you point out to the court the man who killed you?"

"Of course," said the portrait. "It was that man over there. The defendant Severus Snape. Hello, Severus, I trust you are doing well. The others, particularly Nigellus, send their regards."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Robards, "but you ought not to speak to the defendant directly in court."

"No? Well I do apologize. It is just that Severus and I have known each other for twenty-seven years now, and have been in constant contact for all but two of them, so it is quite natural for me to want to greet him when I see him."

"I understand, Professor. Let us return to the matter at hand. You say that the defendant, Severus Snape, did indeed kill you?"

"Yes, he did."

"Do you have any idea why he wanted to kill you?"

"Oh, he did not want to. I had the devil of a time getting him to come around to the idea. At first he absolutely refused. I had to talk to him rather sternly on more than one occasion. In the end, of course, it was clear even to him that he had no choice."

As the portrait was speaking, murmurings started in the room among both the members of the court and the spectators, and Judge Finch had to use his gavel to restore order.

"Professor, would you please explain."

"I would be happy to. It started more than two years ago when I found an item I had been searching for for most of my life, a stone set into a ring, and I was foolish enough to put it on. The ring portion had been cursed, and it nearly killed me. I sent immediately for Severus – he is wonderful when it comes to dealing with dark things – and he was able to delay the action of the curse, though we both knew it was merely a matter of time. That was when I conceived my plan. Everyone now knows, thanks to Harry Potter, that I was the master of the Elder Wand. Above all I did not want the wand to fall into the hands of Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort – and so I tried to arrange to have Severus become its new master by killing me. I told him that as an act of mercy he should, when it was clear I was dying, spare me torment by killing me himself."

"Did he agree to kill you and become master of the wand?"

"Oh, I did not tell him about the wand part. I did not want anyone to know that he was master of the wand, certainly not him. I wanted the wand hidden away, buried, lost forever. I merely told Severus he would be doing me a kindness. He refused."

"He refused to kill you?"

"He was very forceful in his refusal. I had, as I said, to speak rather sternly to him on several occasions all during the school year, but he would not give in. The idea of killing anyone was abhorrent to him. In the end, as I have also already said, he no longer had a choice."

"Would you please tell the court what happened that night."

"I had gone with young Harry to retrieve one of Riddle's items, a Horcrux. In order to obtain it, I had drunk a poisoned potion, and I knew I needed to get to Severus, who was awake and waiting for my return. Unknown to either of us, Death Eaters had found a passage into the very heart of Hogwarts and were already battling members of my staff. They placed a Dark Mark over the Astronomy tower. When we saw it from Hogsmeade, Harry and I took brooms and went directly to the Tower. There we were confronted by four of the Death Eaters."

"Where was Harry Potter at this moment?"

"He was under an Invisibility Cloak, and I had immobilized him. I did not want him hurt."

"Please continue."

"I had been disarmed and was sinking fast under the effects of the poison. The Death Eaters made it clear that they intended to take over the school and injure or kill the students. I needed a way to get them to leave Hogwarts so that their passage into the school could be destroyed and the students spared. At that moment, Severus appeared on the tower. I told him what to do."

"How did you communicate with him?"

"Legilimency contact. He was also a Death Eater – spying for me – and they would trust him as he had risen rather high in Riddle's chain of command. I was dying anyway. I told him to establish his authority by killing me, and to order them to leave the castle. The ruse was successful. They followed his orders, and the students were spared."

"So the defendant killed you with an Unforgivable Curse."

"Oh my, no. Severus said the words, but he did not possess sufficient intent for the curse to work. No, on my instructions he tossed me into the air, and I fell from the tower. I did manage to slow my fall somewhat, but the effects of the potion I had drunk were very far advanced. I died as a result of the fall."

"Thank you, Professor," said Robards "Now I should like to speak of the other charges, those you have personal knowledge of. Do you have personal knowledge of the deaths of Charity Burbage, Alastor Moody, or Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Personal knowledge?" said Dumbledore's portrait. "No, I do not."

"Did the defendant ever speak to you of them?"

In the accused's chair in the center of the chamber, Snape shifted uncomfortably.

"Speak," said the portrait benignly, "is such a mild word. It hardly describes the event at all. Severus exploded at me."

"Explain the nature of the explosion, please."

"Professor…" Snape began in an effort to stop Dumbledore.

"The defendant will not interrupt testimony," Judge Finch ordered, and Snape was silent.

"Severus is an occlumens from birth," Dumbledore continued. "He compartmentalizes his feelings and experiences, and locks away things he does not wish to contemplate. When I first met him as a boy of eleven, he did not even understand that he had these locked-away feelings. Such repression is unhealthy, and Hagrid and I worked for a long time to teach him how to open up. When he turned against Voldemort in December 1980, however, his ability to conceal his feelings and thoughts became advantageous to me, and I encouraged it to my advantage and his detriment. Feelings thus repressed have a tendency to break through, and when they do it can be a violent and exhausting episode. In Severus's case, it manifests itself in powerful wandless, nonverbal, telekinetic explosions."

"Have you ever witnessed one of these explosions?"

"Twice. First when we initially got through to him as a child, and second when he arrived at Hogwarts having just been appointed headmaster."

"Why would the second occasion have sparked an 'explosion?'"

"When Voldemort took over the Ministry of Magic, it became immediately clear that he would 'appoint' the next headmaster of Hogwarts. It was vital that Severus be the one selected. A major reason, if you will excuse me for what might sound like vanity, was that the headmaster controls the portraits, of which I am one. If any Death Eater but Severus had been made headmaster, I would have been constrained to provide both information and assistance through that person to Voldemort. Equally, though Severus would have to appear to be a loyal Death Eater, he would be in a position to offer some protection to the school and its students. Thirdly, I needed someone I trusted to perform certain actions that would assist Harry Potter in the fulfillment of his prophesied role as the destroyer of Voldemort. Everything was dependent upon Severus becoming headmaster.

"Severus was never in a position where he might have saved either Professor Burbage or Minister Scrimgeour. The most he could have done was sacrifice himself in a gesture of vain support and protection. If he had, all our plans would have been scuttled. He had to watch their deaths in apparent calm and with apparent consent. Moody's death was an act of compassion to keep Alastor from being tortured by Voldemort's people. Once safe in the headmaster's office, the pressure of this exploded. He flung furniture around, he smashed my wine cellar, he trashed my library, he vilified me and accused me of causing the damnation of his soul… He was utterly distraught until he reached the point of physical collapse. And he specifically mentioned the deaths of Moody, Burbage, and Scrimgeour as being events that distressed him."

Robards allowed the testimony to merge into a general silence in which Professor McGonagall could be heard sniffing into a handkerchief.

"Professor," said Robards after the court had digested the previous information, "the defendant was in your custody on parole for having been a Death Eater from 1978 until 1981. Do you know why he broke parole and returned to Voldemort?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He did it because I told him to. I needed him to spy for me, and he was following my orders."

"Do you believe he undermined the integrity and good order of Hogwarts?"

"No. It is true that while he was headmaster, Hogwarts did decline. The question is how much further it would have declined, how much worse things might have been, had he not been there to mitigate the effects of Voldemort's orders. And you must also consider that our main goal was the destruction of Voldemort. For this, Severus had to remain within the safety of Hogwarts protecting both himself and me. For him to have defied Voldemort would have caused our utter defeat."

Silence again descended on the court. After a moment, Robards said, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. That will be all for now. The Prosecution calls Nigel Yaxley to the stand."

Nigel Yaxley's face was not in his favor. He had coarse, rough features that gave him a brutal appearance, though Snape was well aware of a much gentler interior. Nigel was the type of back-up you used when you wanted to prevent a fight before it got started. He had that kind of intimidating look to him.

"Mr. Yaxley," Robards began after Yaxley had identified himself to the court, "how long have you known the defendant Severus Snape?"

"I first came into contact with him in 1979. That was when he started teach defensive combat skills."

"You'll have to go back a bit and fill us in. Where were you employed at the time?"

"I was a fourth level Death Eater at the Dark Lord's headquarters in London."

It only took a few taps of the gavel to quiet the courtroom, and Robards continued. "What was the defendant's position?"

"He was a relatively new recruit, who'd been brought in at third level because of his potions and spells skills."

"What was the occasion of your meeting?"

"He'd just been assigned to teach defensive combat skills, and I'd been told to take a class. We all thought it was kind of funny, this wet-behind-the-ears nineteen-year-old teaching us how to fight, but the captains said he'd put on an impressive show in front of the Dark Lord battling Amycus Carrow, so it was worth finding out what he could do."

"What could he do?"

"Wriggle his way out of just about any attack you hit him with as long as his back was defended, and most of the time even when it wasn't. He taught defensive spells, but he also taught how to watch the other man's eyes so you knew what was coming. He taught muggle techniques, too. We didn't think much of that until Thorfinn Rowle lost his wand to an Expelliarmus during an operation in Warwickshire and used Snape's dodging exercises to get clear. It made us think, and we took him more seriously after that. You just had to remember he didn't know squat about attack, just loads about defense."

"I realize, Mr. Yaxley, that you yourself are not on trial, but for the edification of the court, would you be willing to tell us exactly what your position was at that time."

"Sure. I was a spy. I'd worked under cover for Alastor Moody – you know, the auror – in several criminal cases. He convinced me to join the Dark Lord in order to pass him information. I was dumb enough to agree. The Dark Lord was recruiting a lot among the Hogwarts graduates at the time, but as I never went to Hogwarts, they wouldn't any of them know who I was. I was just a field operative back then, but I sent Moody everything I could."

"Did you know that at that time, when you met the defendant, Moody was also secretly working for Albus Dumbledore."

"No, sir, I did not."

"Could you tell us the defendant's position at the time Voldemort attacked the Potters and was defeated by little Harry?"

"Not a lot. Moody was scrambling to keep me out of the roundup, and I really wasn't thinking about him. I found out later he'd done all right, keeping his position at Hogwarts and all. I figured he'd wriggled out of another one."

Robards paced the courtroom, his hands cupped behind the small of his back, seemingly lost in thought. "Tell us about the return of Voldemort in 1995," he asked next.

"No real contact at first. A lot of the top people were in Azkaban, so I found myself in the third level ordered to organize a cell in Cardiff. I didn't have a lot of success. I mean, Moody didn't want the cell to grow, and I was supposed to try to get back to headquarters instead of stuck off in Wales, but I've never been good at organizing so I'd probably have failed at it even if I'd wanted to succeed. Then they had the breakout at Azkaban, and I got transferred back to London. That was when I got the first inkling because Moody told me whatever else happened, I shouldn't get in Snape's way. He didn't say why, but I could tell it was because he was like me, playing the double game."

"Did the two of you ever work together?"

"Yes. He realized pretty quickly that I didn't want to support the Lestranges and those others, so I became sort of one of his lieutenants. He told everyone he was trying to protect his laboratory at headquarters, but he was really trying to protect someone at Hogwarts. We worked together on a shield that would only let certain people through, and he was creating a safe house in Oxford. I think the safe house is still there. I don't think he ever used it."

"Mr. Yaxley," Robards said in his most official manner, "where were you on the night that Albus Dumbledore died?"

"Me?" said Yaxley. "I was on the Astronomy tower watching everything."

"Please tell us how you got there, and what you were doing," said Robards as the gasp and murmur at these words quickly died down.

"I was at headquarters when the call came that they needed people quick down in London. It was late at night, but I'd been spending a lot of time at headquarters because Snape was working on something involving a student – I won't say his name because he was a minor at the time, and he hasn't been charged with anything – and the call was for people to go into Hogwarts. We apparated down to London to… a shop where there was a cabinet. It had a direct link to another cabinet on the seventh floor at Hogwarts. We ran into staff making their rounds as soon as we went into the corridor, and we had a fight on our hands."

"Was Professor Snape present at that time?"

"No, which was fortunate or he'd have had to take sides. I tried to do as little as possible. Gibbon ran up to the Astronomy tower to put up the Dark Mark. Somehow – maybe the student told him – he knew Dumbledore wasn't in the castle, and they wanted him to go right to the tower. Gibbon got hit by a misdirected Killing Curse as soon as he came down the steps, but the student went running up to the top of the tower. The fighting was pretty fierce. More teachers and ministry guards, and even students on their side. We had more coming through the portal, too. When the Carrows and Greyback showed up, they didn't join the fight. They grabbed me and asked where the student was. I told them and they went right up the stairs. That made me nervous, so I went with them and rigged the stairs so only Snape could follow me."

"How did you do that?"

"Modified stable shield. I'd helped him develop one for his potions lab at headquarters. I don't understand the science behind it – muggle science – but it worked. I had the spell that would block everyone but him. Then I ran up to the tower. Dumbledore was there, the student, the Carrows, and Greyback. And two brooms. The student looked nervous. Dumbledore looked sick, and he didn't have a wand. Dumbledore greeted the Carrows and Greyback, but he ignored me. I had the feeling maybe he knew I was working for Moody, and since I was the last up the stairs, he didn't want to draw the attention of the others to the fact I was there. The others started telling the student to kill Dumbledore, but it was pretty clear he didn't want to. Greyback was talking about killing other students just for fun, then said he would kill Dumbledore himself. That's when I had to say something."

"What did you say?"

"I told them we had orders that only the student should kill Dumbledore and we weren't to do it ourselves. I was trying to buy time, hoping Snape would show up. When Greyback moved toward Dumbledore, I even blasted him aside. I was afraid the three of them might turn on me, but that's when Snape appeared on the tower."

The court was silent, everyone caught up in the story. "What did Professor Snape do?" Robards asked.

"He looked around and saw me. I could tell he was estimating the odds, the two of us against the three of them, but then Dumbledore spoke his name and he turned and pushed the boy aside so he and Dumbledore could make eye contact. Then Dumbledore glanced over at me and said, 'Severus, please…'"

"Why do you think he did that?"

"I think he did it for me. I think he spoke out loud so that I would know that whatever Snape was about to do, he was doing it because Dumbledore'd asked him to do it. So I would know that I could still trust Snape and follow his orders. That was when I was sure Dumbledore knew I was working for Moody. Then Snape raised his wand and said the Killing Curse. I knew something was fishy when it blasted Dumbledore off the tower, but I didn't say anything. Snape grabbed the boy, ordered us to get out quickly, and left the tower. I was the last, or so I thought, but I got hit from behind by a Petrificus spell. Harry Potter had been on the tower as well."

"So you didn't see the end of the fight?"

"No, sir. They discovered me and put me in custody, but Moody got me out really quick. Then I found out that Dumbledore really was dead, and I started to have doubts about Snape. Moody told me to be careful until we were sure which side Snape was on. I went back to headquarters and was made liaison with the group working in the Ministry of Magic trying to recruit or Imperius key people there."

"Were you present at the deaths of Charity Burbage or Rufus Scrimgeour? Did Professor Snape kill them?"

"I was there when Burbage died. The Dark Lord killed her; Snape had to watch. I wasn't there when Scrimgeour died."

"Thank you Mr. Yaxley. That will be all for the moment." Robards looked over at the judge, who ordered court recessed for lunch.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 11**

Harry Potter and his friends apparated back to the Burrow for lunch. Harry tried to generate enthusiasm for the meal Mrs. Weasley prepared, but he was feeling too depressed to be hungry.

"What'sa matter Harry?" Ron asked him, but it was Ginny who answered.

"Dumbledore was talking to Harry, too, that night. Only Harry didn't understand the message."

"Message?" Ron said. "A message for Harry?"

"I can't believe," Harry sighed, "how stupid I've been. And it wasn't the first time either. Professor Dumbledore tried to explain to me the night Sirius died that Professor Snape couldn't tell me he'd understood my message. He had to pretend he thought I was an idiot in order to keep Umbridge from suspecting him. I couldn't just trust him. Dumbledore told me to trust him. Hagrid told me to trust him. I couldn't do it. I needed an explicit sign. And right there on the tower, Dumbledore was telling me that Snape was obeying his instructions. And I didn't understand. He was my mentor for five years, and I didn't understand. Yaxley never even went to Hogwarts… didn't know Dumbledore… but he understood. Not me. Not brilliant Harry Potter."

"Harry," Ginny said gently, "it's not your fault that things were so confused up there and happening so quickly. Anyone could have misunderstood."

"No!" Harry said sharply. "You don't understand. Everything Yaxley described was something I witnessed, too. I saw Dumbledore greet Greyback and the Carrows and pass over Yaxley. I heard them threaten to harm the students. I saw Yaxley try to stop them from killing Dumbledore and even blast Greyback out of the way. I saw Snape looking at Yaxley, and only turning toward Dumbledore when Dumbledore said his name. Don't you see? I took lessons from Snape! He used Legilimency on me! And I still didn't realize the two of them were talking to each other! 'Severus, please. Please do as I ask.' Only he couldn't say the whole thing in front of the Death Eaters. And Snape didn't hate Dumbledore. He hated the situation… he hated himself for what he had to do. Nigel Yaxley, who hardly knew Dumbledore at all – he understood. But I didn't."

Hermione sat down next to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. "There are other things that aren't your fault, Harry. Other people, people you trusted, misled you about Snape. And we were all silly and illogical about it because we like to believe the people we're fond of. So if they say unfair things…"

"Who are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"Professor Lupin. He was great about some things, but he lied to us, too, and he wasn't fair to Professor Snape. Do you remember when Snape caught us in the Shrieking Shack? He said some really important things, and if we'd paid attention, we'd never have been attacked by dementors, but we were all too emotional to even listen."

"What did he say?" Ron asked. "I thought he was just acting crazy and vindictive."

"No, Ron. He said he went to Professor Lupin's office because he knew that Lupin hadn't taken his Wolfsbane Potion. He suspected Lupin of helping Sirius get into Hogwarts. Don't you remember? It was right after Sirius got in the first time that Snape tried to warn us Lupin was a werewolf by giving us that assignment. He thought Lupin was dangerous, and he wanted us all to be on our guard. Lupin told us we didn't have to do it, but maybe that was self-protection. In Lupin's office that night, Snape saw the map and that Lupin was on his way to the shack. Then he found your Invisibility Cloak by the willow. He must have been sure that Lupin hadn't taken his potion on purpose because he and Sirius were planning to kill you. And what Lupin did then would have convinced him."

"What did Lupin do then?" Ron asked. "He tried to explain about Sirius, but…"

"He didn't care," Harry said. "Almost the first thing Snape said was that Lupin hadn't taken his potion. Lupin had been transforming into a werewolf every full moon since he was a little boy. He knew it was the full moon that night. He knew he could change at any moment, and there we were, three unprotected students he could attack. Why didn't he immediately ask to go back to the castle for the potion or at least to be restrained? Snape must have felt it was because Lupin wanted a full transformation, that his attempts to explain about Sirius were just an effort to delay things until it happened."

Harry cradled his head in his hands. "Why didn't they tell me Snape was my mom's friend? I know Dumbledore promised Snape not to, but Lupin and Sirius didn't promise. And I know Sirius knew because he saw Snape and my mom together on the Express. That night Lupin told me Professor Snape especially disliked my dad because he was jealous, then said it was for dad's Quidditch ability. Not because of my mom, but because of Quidditch. Why didn't I ever see how stupid that was? Why didn't they ever tell me?"

"It's almost as if," said Ginny quietly, "people were telling lies about Snape on purpose. Deliberately trying to make his reasons seem small and petty so that you would have cause to dislike and distrust him."

"But why," Harry replied, "would Dumbledore want to do that?"

It was a question Harry decided to try asking Snape himself, so he apparated back to the Ministry of Magic well before the trial was set to resume at two o'clock. To Harry's surprise, his request to speak to Snape was granted at once.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to see me," Harry admitted, taking the chair Snape offered. "It must be hard sitting there listening to them, even if it does all support you."

"It isn't as if I have much choice," Snape replied.

Harry bristled at this. "You keep saying that, but everyone has choices. We all have choices. It's the choices we make that determine who we are. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, but I chose not to go, so I didn't turn out like Voldemort."

Snape's response was something akin to a snort. "You in Slytherin house? What an unappetizing thought!"

"What I'm saying is," Harry insisted, "that we don't have to take what the world gives us. We can choose our own way."

"Spoken like the grandson and nephew of management."

"Stop this upper class, lower class business!"

"Middle class. James Potter may have come from wealth, but wealth by itself does not make you upper class."

"And lack of it doesn't make you lower class!"

"No, but being the son of a mine worker does. Working class from the wrong side of town."

"That's sort of what Aunt Petunia said." Harry thought for a while. "Were your dad's family always mine workers?"

"No. M' gram said they were Yorkshire men who came as laborers on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal. M' great-granddad ran away to sea and spent a large part of his life in the China trade. He didn't get home a lot, so m' granddad worked in the mill. And m' dad after him. The mill closed when I was four. That's when he went into the mines." Snape didn't seem aware that his speech had slipped into the accents of his youth.

"I saw him," Harry said. "That day in your office. Did he… you know…?"

"Hit me? Of course he did. That's what happens in working class families on Friday night." Snape stared down at his hands. "It wasn't really his fault. His dad was like that, too. I think m' gram was relieved when her husband died. She had a lot fewer bruises after that. If the dad's a hitter, the son's a hitter."

"Are you one?"

"I have neither wife nor children to hit. Have you ever seen me or heard of me striking a student?" Lancashire had suddenly disappeared from Snape's voice.

"No, never," Harry replied. He thought for a moment. "Did you ever hit anyone?"

"You are being impertinent," Snape hissed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "That wasn't what I came to talk to you about. I came to see if you could tell me why everyone lied to me, especially about you."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "Everyone lied about me?"

"Dumbledore lied about owing my father a debt, and Lupin lied about being jealous over Quidditch, and no one ever told me about you and my mom… It's like all my life people have been hiding things from me. I don't know what or who to believe anymore." Harry stared despondently at the floor. He didn't see the sudden doubt, worry, and speculation that flickered across Snape's face.

After a moment's pause, Snape said quietly, "Yes, I did hit someone. I hit your mother. Once. But even once is once too often."

It was a hard moment, as Harry felt anger welling within him. And yet at the same time he knew Snape's statement was in response to his plea for honesty. He tried to control his voice as he said, "Why did you do that?"

"We were fourteen. My parents had just died. I suppose she was hoping to make me feel better, but it seemed to me she was just minimizing my grief. Anger flared; I slapped her. I realized then that I'd inherited my father's impulse to hurt what he loved. I apologized to her, and I have never struck anyone like that since. Things were never quite the same between us after that."

Harry glanced around the room, then looked right at Snape. "Did you love my mother?" he asked.

Snape's eyes grew narrow and cold. "That is hardly a proper question for you to be asking," he said after a pause of several seconds. "You are talking about children who do not exist anymore. The question of love is irrelevant. Children of that age have no understanding of love."

"Children love their parents," Harry countered.

"As I naturally must have loved my father?"

That stopped Harry cold. The question had become far more complex. "Did you love your father?" he asked.

Snape shrugged. "Define love," he said. "It wasn't always bad. We played cards, I helped him put the car in working order, he took us to Blackpool, he did backbreaking work underground for nine hours out of the day while breathing coal dust so that I could eat. He was a major pillar of my life for nearly fifteen years, and when he died he left an emptiness. Does that constitute love?"

"I don't know," said Harry beginning to feel miserable.

"Do you love your parents?" Snape asked, his face emotionless.

"O course I do!"

"How can you love someone you never knew? Who was never a vital part of your life? What if I suggested that all you feel is an infatuation for your pipe dreams of what might have been? Pipe dreams spurred by your dislike of Petunia and her husband? What would you do if the real James and Lily Potter were so different from your fanciful imaginings that if you were to meet them in the flesh, you would not recognize them?"

Harry didn't have an answer, and understood from Snape's expression and his turning away, that he expected none. What, after all, did Harry know of his real parents? Reminiscences that were colored for his benefit and contradicted by the hard evidence of detention cards in a filing box and a brutal pensieve memory. The Mirror of Erised wasn't his parents, it was his own dream of his parents. Photographs, a letter… even Sirius and Lupin, who'd known them well, had never sat down with him and just told stories…

"Let me ask you another question," Snape said. "Is there anyone that you do love?"

That was an easy question. "Yeah, the Weasleys. Hermione, too."

"Weasleys? All of them? And is Ginevra aware of your passion for Miss Granger?"

Harry smiled at that. "Sure. And it's all of them. They're like my family, even Hermione. Like the family I never had."

"On the contrary," said Snape, "they are not 'like' the family you never had. They 'are' the family that you do have. When you imagine your own parents, do you think that your mother would have been like Molly Weasley? Lily was very different from Molly." Silence lengthened for a moment. Then Snape asked, "What's the most important thing about the Weasleys?"

There were so many things… the sweaters, the hugs, the adventures… "I can share things with them," Harry said. "I can talk to them, tell them my troubles, laugh with them…" He looked over at Snape. "What about you?"

"Were you listening, Potter? The mill closed when I was four. Do you know what laboring families do when the mill closes and they have even a little money? They move to Manchester. You've been in the town where I grew up. Can you conceive of any wizarding families living there?" Snape turned away again, staring at his hands. "It didn't bother me much. That was the way the world was. You can't change things. You've talked to Petunia. I was the wrong sort, the wrong side of the river. I didn't need them anyway. My mother held Hogwarts up to me as my enchanted future. Then one day at school I watched from the back of the class as a girl I'd sat behind for four years levitated a dropped pencil back into her hand, and I knew I wasn't alone."

"So you became friends."

"For two years. We couldn't let anyone know. Both her dad and mine would have been furious. Labor fraternizing with management was frowned upon. But we had Hogwarts to look forward to. Except she was sorted into Gryffindor, and the son of a Hufflepuff was sorted into Slytherin. We continued to meet, but we still had to hide it."

"If your mom was Hufflepuff, why did you get put into Slytherin?"

"Because Mercury was retrograde." Snape watched the irritation that suffused Harry's face and relented. "No, it was the occlumency. The Hat couldn't read me, so it put me into Slytherin. My name was down for Slytherin from the day I was born. So you see why I am a little skeptical about this whole 'choice' business."

A clerk stuck his head into the room. "Time," he said. "Court's reconvening."

Harry and Snape both left the room, each going his different way.

xxxxxxxxxx

After the judges entered the court and all had resumed their places, Robards addressed the Wizengamot.

"Honorable Witches and Wizards, you see from the testimony offered so far the dilemma of the Prosecution. Crimes have been committed which the law cannot ignore. In the case of the first charge, an elderly, highly respected wizard was tossed from a three-hundred-foot tower to his death. Granted that we have been offered testimony from the memories of the enchanted and highly reliable portrait of the victim himself that he was already succumbing to the effects of not one but two dark curses and the imminent threat of death at the hands of enemies who surrounded him. It is clear that he would shortly have died in any case. But he would not have died at that moment and in that way had it not been for the actions of the defendant. We have corroborated testimony that the defendant's motive at that moment was the protection of the staff and approximately two hundred forty students at Hogwarts at the time. The Council must judge if this motive mitigates the charge and the penalty it should incur.

"We go now to the second charge, that of abetting the death of one Charity Burbage, formerly a teacher of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. The defendant does not dispute this charge, and we have already heard from one witness that he was present, though he himself performed no action that caused her death. The Prosecution now calls Lucius Malfoy to the stand."

Snape's sudden, shocked exchange of whispers with Savage, his legal counsel, made it clear the professor had not been expecting this witness. Savage was just as clearly trying to keep him calm and quiet, pointing out that there was nothing to worry about.

Malfoy first identified himself to the court. Then Robards asked the first question. "Mr. Malfoy, I'd first like to clarify the scene of the crime for the court. Where was Charity Burbage killed?"

"In the dining room of my manor in Wiltshire."

"Were you a witness to the crime?"

"I was."

"This may seem an odd question, but why were you in your own home at that moment?"

"It is not an odd question at all." Malfoy looked haughtily around the room, the underlying arrogance of his manner heightened by the impeccable cut of his clothing and the styling of his platinum hair. His gray eyes were cool and calm. "I had, since the beginning of the summer of 1996, been in Azkaban prison on account of an unfortunate… misunderstanding in the Department of Mysteries. Following the decease of Albus Dumbledore, the… eh… You-Know-Who effected the release of a large number of political prisoners, of whom I was one. He wished to use my manor as a temporary headquarters."

"Who brought Charity Burbage to your home?"

"Some of You-Know-Who's servants. Thorfinn Rowle was one. Daniel Selwyn another. There may have been more that I did not see. Professor Burbage was unconscious. Her body was suspended above the dining room table. Everyone who entered the room for the meeting that evening saw her."

"What happened during the meeting?"

"There were reports on progress infiltrating the Ministry. There was a difference of opinion regarding a tactical operation. A discussion of wands and loyalty. Then You-Know-Who caused Professor Burbage to wake up, and informed the gathering who she was."

"Did she say anything?"

"Yes. She recognized Professor Snape and begged him to help her."

"Did he help her?"

"No. He simple watched while the Dar… You-Know-Who dispatched her with a Killing Curse."

"In your assessment of the situation, could Professor Snape have helped Charity Burbage?"

"No. If he'd made a movement to do so, he would have been killed, too, and she would still have died."

"Would you repeat that please so that there is no doubt as to your meaning."

"If Professor Snape had made any attempt to assist Professor Burbage, he would have been killed, and she would have died anyway."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You are excused. The Prosecution will now address the charge of encompassing the death of Alastor Moody. I call Kingsley Shacklebolt to the witness stand."

"Mr. Minister," Robards began after Shacklebolt had identified himself to the court, "were you a witness to the death of either Alastor Moody or Rufus Scrimgeour?"

Even as Robards spoke, Snape entered into a hurried whispered exchange with Savage.

"Yes, I was, after a fashion," Shacklebolt replied. "I was able to observe pensieve memories of both…"

"Objection, your Honor!" Snape cried out, on his feet at once. "Pensieve testimony is inadmissible in court without the express permission of the person to whom the memory belongs unless the memory comes from someone deceased! I ask that the question be withdrawn!"

"Mr. Snape," Judge Finch said sternly, "you will try to control yourself. You are represented by counsel, and it is he who should make objections."

"But he won't do it, and I haven't given my consent. They can't use it without my consent."

"Is this true, Mr. Robards?" the judge asked. "Have you failed to get consent from the defendant?"

"Your Honor," Robards pointed out, "there is no pensieve in the court. There is no memory vial in the court. It is not the intention of the Prosecution to show a pensieve memory. Both Minister Shacklebolt and myself, however, witnessed the pensieve memories at an earlier date, with the permission of the defendant. The Minister is being asked to describe what he witnessed."

"Is this true?" Judge Finch asked Snape. "Did you give the witness permission to view your memories in a pensieve?"

Snape seemed to shrink, his shoulders hunching as he stared down at the floor. "Yes, your Honor," he said quietly.

"Then the witness observed the deaths of which he is about to give testimony. He is reporting only what he saw. Objection overruled."

"Your Honor." Snape had an almost desperate look to him. "May I be excused from the courtroom while this testimony is presented? I prefer not having to relive it."

"You are excused." The judge signaled the bailiff, and Snape was escorted from the room.

"Now," Robards again addressed Shacklebolt, "please tell us of the death of Alastor Moody."

In the spectators' gallery, Harry listened in fascinated horror as Shacklebolt described the finding of the fatally injured Moody, his face and body mutilated by the Ignis spell, and of the offer – made from kindness and accepted with gratitude – of a quick and painless release. A burden Snape had taken up for friendship's sake, and he wondered how Snape could claim to know nothing of love.

Shacklebolt turned then to the death of Rufus Scrimgeour, and that was harder to hear. Now Harry could readily understand why Snape hadn't wanted to relive it. One quick, faint-hearted Cruciatus, and then hours of being trapped in a room with a dozen sadistic murderers, powerless to act. And knowing, Harry thought, that they'd do the same to him if they ever found out whose side he was really on.

After Shacklebolt had been excused from the witness stand, Snape was escorted back to his place in the courtroom. He sat with his head down, making no effort to assess how the court had taken Shacklebolt's evidence. Harry felt deeply sorry for him.

"Now," Robards was saying, "the Prosecution would like to turn to the charge of undermining the integrity of Hogwarts School. As our first witness, I wish to call Griselda Marchbanks to the witness stand."

That caused a stir, for Griselda Marchbanks had examined virtually everyone in the room for their OWL exams. She was not only known and respected, she was feared – feared with the shamed adolescent fear that every young scholar feels when confronting a professor with the lame excuse that the dog had eaten the homework. It was then that Harry remembered that Marchbanks sat on the Board of Governors.

"Professor Marchbanks," Robards began, "do you recall the paneling of Severus Snape for the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts a year ago."

"As if it were yesterday, Gawain," Marchbanks replied. "As if it were yesterday."

Robards leaned toward Professor Marchbanks. "Have you heard speculation, ma'am, that at the time of Professor Snape's appointment the members of the Board of Governors were Imperiused by operatives of the wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort?"

"I have, and it's poppycock. None of us was Imperiused."

"Pardon me for asking, Professor, but how would you know?"

"Heavens, child, I've been on the OWL examinations panel since before you were born. In fact, if I remember correctly, since before your grandmother was born. They say that casting an Imperius curse gets you a one way ticket to Azkaban, but let me tell you – not if your target's an Examiner. I can't tell you how many times desperate students have cast Imperiuses on me. From the moment the OWLs were introduced in 1809, students have been trying to control Examiners. Part of the orientation of a new Examiner is training in resisting mind spells like the Imperius. We all have high resistance levels, and we all would recognize the spell both in ourselves and in each other. And in members of the Board of Governors who are not Examiners. No one was Imperiused."

"What was your reaction when you learned that Professor Snape had been proposed as headmaster?"

"Mixed. Mind you, I'd examined his mother for her OWLs, and she was competent, but not spectacular. The son, on the other hand, was an incredibly bright and promising young wizard were it not for his habit of closing himself off and holding everyone at arm's length. I examined him in 1976 and again in 1978 in… yes, it was Herbology, and he knew things he didn't get from Mullein. I wondered about it until Tofty reminded me who his grandmother was. But he was so withdrawn and clinical. Neither a sixteen-year-old nor an eighteen-year-old should be like that."

"What else did you already know about him?"

"I knew him quite well on a professional level. I've been part of the panel testing his students at Hogwarts since 1982. I've been the Potions examiner on many occasions, both for OWLs and for NEWTs. From the moment he came on board, his NEWT students were exceptional, and even the OWLs shot up. His Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students tended to outshine his Slytherin and Gryffindor students, but that was a scheduling problem that he and I discussed almost every year. He would have preferred a Gryffindor/Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw/Slytherin split, and I took it up repeatedly with Dumbledore, but it never seemed to happen."

"This all sounds good. Why were your reactions mixed?"

"By then, of course, we'd all heard of Harry Potter's accusation that Severus had killed Albus. It was a difficult concept to deal with since they'd been working together quite amicably for nearly sixteen years. Then again, I'd attended Albus's funeral. At no point did anyone speak of the circumstances of Albus's death or point fingers of blame. Even Minerva, who is never shy about speaking up, said nothing. It was all as if there were this tacit agreement that young Harry was a bit off the wall, if you know what I mean.

"And then there was Severus himself. We interviewed him, and he made it clear he had no intention of changing the staff. The only new people were in Dark Arts and Muggle Studies, and they had to be replaced in any case because Severus was moving into the headmaster's slot and Charity had already resigned. He also made it clear that in a conflict between the Ministry and the Board, he would side with the Board. He kept that promise, too. In the last year, the Ministry made several attempts to interfere with the curriculum at Hogwarts, and Severus resisted them every time. The only areas where the Ministry had any success were in Dark Arts and Muggle Studies where they had their own people on staff. Did you know the Ministry wanted to require teaching NEWT level Potions students to brew species-specific poisons, beginning with the centaurs? That was a battle royal, let me tell you. I understood from my sources that Severus threw the Ministry people off the grounds himself."

"Have you had any contact with the defendant recently?"

"Yes, and despite his tribulations, he is still interested in serving Hogwarts."

"In what way?"

"In revamping the curriculum. He disagrees with the laws restricting wizard-muggle contact. He wishes to give wizards the opportunity to be competitive within the muggle economy. He has explained that the tiny number of wizards in comparison with the totality of muggles means that we would have a minimal impact on their economy while they could have a major impact on ours. Imagine every wizarding child being guaranteed a gainful, nay a lucrative employment."

"Is this not a dangerously radical approach?"

"None of our traditional ways would be sacrificed, and no wizarding child would be forced to enter the muggle world. It would merely open new avenues of possibility to those inclined to take them. I myself was quite impressed."

"The Prosecution has no further questions. The witness may step down."

Court was recessed for the day. In the antechambers outside the courtroom, Harry looked for, and found, Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy was, in fact, not at all difficult to find. He was sitting on a bench in front of the courtroom, waiting in case his testimony was needed again before the court recessed. He was in the custody of two aurors, who would escort him back to his cell when the day's session was over.

"You're not free?" Harry blurted out as soon as he realized the other two men were Malfoy's jailers.

"How quaint. The Boy Wonder actually thought that I was clever enough or innocent enough to avoid being legally detained. I am flattered."

"Why did you tell them that Voldemort was the one who killed Professor Burbage?"

"Oddly enough, Potter, because it's true. None of the rest of us did anything. It was Severus who was being tested, however. That was very clear. They were watching him to see what he would do."

"How do you know that?"

"Severus was asked if he recognized her. She appealed to him for help. He was being deliberately placed in an untenable position. I am awed by the apparent ease with which he passed that test. Especially now that I've found out which side he was on."

"That kind of brings me back to my question. Why? You know he betrayed you. Why are you testifying in his favor? Did they promise you leniency?"

Malfoy looked down his patrician nose at Harry. "How marvelous it must be to be so certain of the rectitude of your cause and your beliefs. Would it surprise you, Potter, to learn that you and the toadies who bark at your heels are practically the only people in the wizarding world who consider Severus to have no redeeming qualities whatsoever? Has Gryffindor ever condescended to poll Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? I know this, that while Severus may have betrayed the Dark Lord, he did not betray me. When I was in disgrace and my wife and son in peril, he risked his own position to give them aid and support. Narcissa's own sister would not shield her, but Severus would. And he did everything he could to protect my son."

"So you think you owe him a debt?"

"What a mercenary thought. As if friendship and loyalty were something to be weighed and measured, balanced on the scales, and added to or subtracted from if they were not found to be perfectly even. I have one guiding light – my family. It is an ancient wizarding family whose fortunes have narrowed to the life of one person – my son Draco. I know that others see my concentration on my family as self-centered and self-serving, but it is what I have been given to do. Severus, on the other hand, gives himself to others. He endures great suffering – suffering he does not have to endure – to ensure that others attain their goals. Even that cousin of Bella's, the Vaughn woman he courted two years ago, even she recognized his good qualities and protected him from Bella, though her assignment was the opposite. She protected him because she saw he deserved to be protected."

Whatever Harry might have said or asked at that moment was interrupted by the appearance of Hermione Granger. "Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," she said sweetly. "I was just talking with the legal people preparing your case and noticed they left out the charge 'using a Cruciatus curse against one Hermione Granger, muggle-born witch.' You'll be please to know that they've agreed to add it. We wouldn't want to hide your light under a bushel basket, now would we?"

"So kind," replied Malfoy with an attempt at a smirk that was unavoidably a sneer instead. "You will, of course, inform them that the one actually saying 'Crucio' was my sister-in-law."

"Things get so confused when you're being tortured," returned Hermione. "I was sure it was you."

"As I am certain you felt obliged to tell the Prosecution. One can only admire the strictness of your moral scruples and the uprightness of your cause." Malfoy turned to his guards. "The trial has definitely been recessed. I should like to escape the unpleasantness of this crowded hallway and return to the peacefulness of my Ministry-provided lodgings."

The two aurors led Malfoy back to the detention cells.

"I'm glad you're making him face his crimes," Harry told Hermione. "Did he use the Cruciatus curse on you?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione told him. "I know Bellatrix did. I really can't say about any of the others. But they didn't try to stop her. I just couldn't stand it if he walked away from this, though."

"I know what you mean," said Harry. There was a pause, and then the bell rang in his head. "Wait. There's something Malfoy just said. Hermione, I have to try to talk to Professor Snape." Leaving Hermione gaping behind him, Harry raced down to the detention area and, to his great surprise, was admitted at once to speak to Snape.

Harry burst into the room, then virtually skidded to a stop. He had no idea what to say or how to begin. The subject he wanted to broach seemed so utterly alien to the austere figure seated at the table opposite that all Harry could do was blurt out, "Who was she?"

Snape gazed at the boy, impassive and outwardly cool. "If you mean who was my third year Transfiguration instructor, it was Minerva McGonagall. If you do not, than I confess to being utterly at a loss as to the person to whom you are referring."

Taking a deep breath, Harry continued, "Lucius Malfoy mentioned a woman named Vaughn and…" He paused, trying to think of a way to phrase it. "He suggested that you were close to her. He said it was two years ago, but that's when Professor Dumbledore says your patronus changed from a fox to a doe, so I guess my question is how you could have been close to her and still love my mother."

"Your sudden fascination with the minutia of my private life is not flattering, Potter. My suggestion to you is that you drop it before it goes beyond the stage of being merely irritating."

"No. This has something to do with my mother. I don't know what, but it does. I want to know…"

"She was some sort of cousin of Bellatrix Lestrange's. She was assigned to tempt me away from Malfoy and into Bella's camp. That's all. End of story."

"And were you?"

"What?"

"Tempted."

"Bravo, Potter, you have mastered the lose/lose question. If I say 'yes,' Gryffindor begins the insidious mocking chant of 'Professor Snape has a girlfriend.' If I say 'no,' it initiates the equally insidious rumor that Professor Snape doesn't like girls. I'm not playing your game. No comment."

"So I get to guess how this leads to my mother." Harry began pacing back and forth in the small room. "The Vaughn woman tempts you. You take whatever advantage you can from the situation. She dumps you. You turn to the memory…"

"She didn't dump me," Snape said quietly. "She died."

Harry froze in his tracks, his frustration and bitterness evaporating in the instant. "I'm sorry," he said. "What happened?"

"Do you remember, towards the end of your fifth year, that there was a skirmish outside Grimmauld Place? None of the members of the Order was injured but…"

"There was blood on the pavement. I heard."

"It was her blood."

"Who…?"

"Bella. It was a misdirected spell… an accident. Lucius was the one who told me, who sent me to the clinic to see… and then Sirius right after. I told you how it was, when we spoke the last time. It was a while before I tried casting a patronus again and… it had changed."

"Of course!" Harry cried. "It's because you…"

"Don't!" Snape yelled at him, rising to his feet, and then more quietly, "Please, don't. You have no idea how painful that is, being cracked open like an egg, against your will, and everything inside you being forced out. Please, just leave it be."

"Okay," said Harry. "We won't talk about it anymore. Not now, at any rate. I'm changing the subject, I promise." He waited while Snape sat back down. Then he said, "If they give it to you, are you going to accept?"

"What are you talking about? Give me what?"

"Being headmaster of Hogwarts. If they offer it to you, will you accept?"

"No one is going to ask me to be headmaster. You're daft, you are. Too much sun, perhaps."

"No. I'm serious. Marchbanks was practically touting you. Have you been following this in the _Prophet?"_

Snape shook his head, so Harry pulled the late morning edition out of his pocket, the section that reported Dumbledore's testimony. Above a rather dignified drawing of Snape in the dock (photographs not being permitted in court) was the headline, "Dumbledore's Right Hand."

Harry left a few minutes later, but he left the newspaper in Snape's possession.

The next morning, Robards called Harry Potter to the witness stand, where he testified as to the accuracy of Yaxley's statements about the Astronomy tower. "And yet," said Robards, "immediately after Dumbledore's death, you were absolutely certain that the defendant had killed him from malice, that he had committed murder."

"Yes," Harry admitted, "I was. I was shocked and upset, and I hadn't realized at the time that they were talking to each other mentally. Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore's memories and personality are in his portrait, and he explained a lot to me, and I can corroborate everything that Mr. Yaxley said as far as what happened that night. What I said earlier was interpretation. I didn't know what anyone was thinking."

"I'd like you to recall now the evening after Lord Voldemort returned to his bodily form. You were back in Hogwarts, in the hospital wing. Do you remember conversations in which the defendant took part?"

"Yes. Minister Fudge refused to believe that Voldemort had returned, so Professor Snape showed him the Dark Mark on his arm and said that earlier it had burned black because he'd been called. It was pretty clear that Dumbledore already knew about it."

"What did you think the defendant's motive was in showing Mr. Fudge the mark?"

"He wanted to convince the Minister that I was telling the truth. That Voldemort really was back, and that we had to do something about it."

"So your sense of the encounter was that the defendant wanted the Ministry to oppose Lord Voldemort."

"Yes."

"At what point did the defendant leave the hospital wing."

"Shortly after that. Professor Dumbledore said that Professor Snape knew what Dumbledore had to ask him to do, if he was prepared to do it. Snape said yes, and left the room."

"Do you know what it was that Dumbledore was asking the defendant to do?"

"Not at the time. I found out later that he was asking Professor Snape to go back to Voldemort as spy to pass information on to the Order of the Phoenix, the organization Professor Dumbledore formed to fight Voldemort."

"Did the defendant pass on information?"

"Yes. I saw him at the headquarters, and other members of the Order told me about his activities."

"Mr. Potter, I wish this to be clear for the court. Why did Professor Snape return to the service of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort?"

"He went on the orders of Albus Dumbledore for the express purpose of spying on Voldemort and passing information back to Voldemort's enemies."

"Thank you Mr. Potter. You may step down. The Prosecution calls Ginevra Weasley to the stand."

Ginny looked young and nervous as she took her place in the circle of eyes. Her voice was almost inaudible as she gave her name to the court, but as the questions proceeded, she got stronger.

"Miss Weasley, did you, at the beginning of the last school year, attempt to steal an artifact from Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir. We… I tried to take Gryffindor's sword."

"Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to make trouble for Professor Snape. I wasn't happy about him being the new headmaster."

"Where did you get the idea?"

Ginny blushed. "A friend said the chocolate frog card of Professor Dumbledore suggested it. We thought that was silly, but the idea sounded fun. We got caught, though."

"What was your punishment?"

"To go with Hagrid and do some work in the Forbidden Forest."

"What was your opinion of this punishment?"

"I thought Snape was getting soft. It wasn't a punishment. It was like being punished by going on a picnic."

"Why do you think Professor Snape gave such a light punishment?"

"What do I think now?," said Ginny softly. "I think he was trying to protect us."

A succession of students was then called, and their evidence coalesced into a pattern. At the beginning of the school year, Snape had been clearly in charge, resisting nearly every change of curriculum proposed by the Carrows except in the area of Muggle Studies, reducing punishments and detentions, and shielding the other teachers from accusations of disloyalty and sedition.

Then, around Christmas time, that had changed. Slowly at first, then more and more rapidly, Snape was seen to lose authority to the Carrows, and life at Hogwarts became worse and worse for those who opposed the Carrows and what they stood for. Unforgivable Curses were introduced into Dark Arts, and physical punishments became the norm. When asked to reflect, the students admitted that Headmaster Snape had seemed to retreat into the background at this time, and a few even recalled the Carrows threatening him with some form of retaliation.

When the last of the student witnesses had been questioned, Robards turned to the three Judges. "Your Honors," he said, "the Prosecution rests its case." He then sat down.

Tony Savage then rose to his feet. "May it please the court, the Defense wishes to thank the Prosecution for its thorough presentation. We have no need to cross examine any witnesses. In fact, I have only one witness to call. Will Severus Snape please take the stand?"

"I thought he wasn't going to testify." Hermione's whisper was hidden in the general hubbub. "Is this good or bad?"

"Good," Harry told her. "Savage wouldn't have called him if he hadn't agreed. It means he's willing to talk about it."

"Name?" Savage asked after Snape had taken his place in the witness box.

"Richard Severus Snape."

"Position?"

"Until recently, Headmaster of Hogwarts. _Sic transit gloria mundi_."

"Pardon me, Professor. Sick what?"

"_Sic transit gloria mundi_. It's Latin for 'Thus passes the glory of the world.' A comment on the temporary nature of power."

"Do you speak Latin? Isn't that rather unusual?"

"On the contrary, Latin used to be a required course at Hogwarts. Until it was removed from the curriculum in 1914 and replaced with Astronomy, which until then had been an upper level elective course."

"I am curious, Professor. I beg the court's indulgence. Has Hogwarts changed its curriculum in other ways?"

"Frequently. Until 1837, dueling was required in the afternoons, and Transfiguration did not attain its pride of place until 1923. Before that it, too, had been an elective. The course it replaced was Sympathetic Magic. It was during the 1920s that all courses in Old Magic were phased out, as were classes in household management that focused on how to supervise house-elves."

"You seem to know quite a bit about the history of Hogwarts."

"I've been teaching there for seventeen years. One ought to learn something about one's environment. Consider it a hobby."

"Thank you. Now Professor," Savage placed his hands behind his back and rocked his body slightly back and forth, "where were you around eleven o'clock on the night that Albus Dumbledore died?"

"In my office waiting for him to return to the school. Professor Dumbledore was Horcrux hunting and anticipated needing assistance with dark magic. At about that time, Professor Flitwick burst in to inform me that Death Eaters had found a way into Hogwarts and were battling staff on the seventh floor. I stunned him and hurried to the seventh floor as quickly as I could."

"Pardon me, but why did you stun Professor Flitwick?"

"I had no idea what I would face on the seventh floor. My primary task was to function as a spy in Lord Voldemort's organization. There was a possibility that I would have to continue to act as if I were a loyal Death Eater and fight against my Hogwarts colleagues. By stunning Flitwick, I guaranteed that I would not have to fight against him."

"Understandable and commendable. What happened when you arrived on the seventh floor?"

"I saw the shield that Yaxley had raised and knew I had to go to the top of the tower. There Professor Dumbledore explained the situation to me by legilimency and told me what to do. I obeyed his orders. The court has heard from other witnesses what that entailed. I have listened to their accounts, and they are accurate."

"Thank you, Professor," Savage continued. "Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes," Snape replied.

"How?"

"By throwing him from the Astronomy tower."

"Did you kill Alastor Moody, and if so, how and why?"

"Yes, with a Killing Curse because he asked me to."

"Did you kill Charity Burbage?"

"No."

"Did you kill Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"No."

"Why did you violate your parole and return to the service of Lord Voldemort?"

"Albus Dumbledore instructed me to."

"Why did you allow the Carrows to take over Hogwarts, to alter the curriculum, to introduce Unforgivable Curses into the Dark Arts class, and to inflict serious corporal punishment on the student body?"

"By that time, the paramount goal was the destruction of Lord Voldemort. If we could not achieve that, we failed. It was vitally important that I remain headmaster of Hogwarts. If I were ever driven from that position, Lord Voldemort or his servants would select my successor. The moment the Board of Governors names a new headmaster, the portraits become his servants. For me to lose the position of headmaster would have meant that a true Death Eater, a true servant of Lord Voldemort, would have become the master of Albus Dumbledore, which would have been a direct line to Harry Potter. No other consideration could possibly outweigh that one. I had to protect the position of headmaster at any and all costs. To do so, I had to cave in to the Carrows."

"Thank you, Professor. Tell me, was there any other consideration of overriding importance?"

"Yes. The prophesied instrument of Lord Voldemort's death was Harry Potter, but Dumbledore had deduced that Potter had to die first in order that Voldemort be destroyed. And Potter's death had to be a willing, voluntary sacrifice. It had something to do with that Old Magic that we had ceased teaching at Hogwarts in the 1920s. It was not until fighting had broken out in Hogwarts at the end of this last school year that I was able to convey this message to Potter."

"Yet Harry Potter is still alive."

"Of course. Potter carried a fragment of Lord Voldemort within him from the attack when he was a baby. If his sacrifice was voluntary, then the fragment, which acted as a Horcrux, would be destroyed. For it to be voluntary, he had to believe he would die. Potter is a naturally talented legilimens. If I was to pass him the information, and he was to believe he would die, I had to believe he would die. Dumbledore had led me to believe that the only way to destroy Lord Voldemort was for Potter to allow himself to be killed."

"Is this why you tried to kill Harry Potter in the Great Hall at Hogwarts?"

"Yes. I believed that Potter had to die first. I did not realize he had already sacrificed himself and had returned to life. I thought my message had not been received. I thought that if Potter did not die first, the Dark Lord would return to plague us again. No one else's life was important. Not Potter's, not mine."

"Thank you, Professor Snape. The Defense rests its case. You may step down."

Snape left the witness box and returned to the dock. Murmuring broke out, and Judge Finch pounded his gavel. "The court will now be cleared to allow the Wizengamot to deliberate!" the judge called again and again. "The court will now be cleared!" Snape was taken back to his cell and the spectators, among whom Harry again counted himself one, waited in the corridors of the Ministry of Magic.

Deliberations lasted a mere half hour before the court was reconvened. Spectators took their places and Snape was brought back in. Judge Finch asked the Council of Wizards, "Have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, you Honor," said the spokeswizard. "On the count of encompassing the death of Albus Dumbledore, we find the defendant guilty with extenuating circumstances. On the count of encompassing the death of Alastor Moody, we find the defendant guilty with extenuating circumstances. On the count of encompassing the death of Charity Burbage, we find the defendant not guilty. On the count of encompassing the death of Rufus Scrimgeour, we find the defendant not guilty. On the count of breaking parole, we find the defendant not guilty. On the count of undermining the regime at Hogwarts, we find the defendant not guilty."

All that remained was the sentencing.

"Severus Snape," said Judge Finch, "you will face the bench."

Snape, who had risen to hear the verdict, turned toward the three judges, his face closed and impassive.

"Severus Snape, you have been found guilty of the deaths of two men, Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, under circumstances which were not self defense. There is no ambiguity here. Your actions were deliberate and intentional, and the law must recognize them as criminal. Within the scope of human action, there are so many individual situations and possibilities that if the court did not apply the law impartially, there would be no agreed place at which to draw the line. Who among us is wise enough to tell in every case where mercy killing ends and true murder begins? You yourself recognized this when you pleaded guilty to the charges.

"It is not, thus, at the stage of interpreting the law that the individual circumstances of each case are taken into account, but at the stage of sentencing. You have killed, and you have been found guilty, and the law is satisfied. There remains for us to now decide what to do about it.

"There are those who see the world in stark shadows of black and white who would tell us that our choices are between right and wrong, and that it is easy to choose the wrong way and difficult to choose the right way. The bench could not agree less. The only choices that are easier than those between right and wrong are those between right and right. Luckily these last constitute the majority of the choices we are called upon to make. Do I prepare chicken or fish? Do I go to the seaside or to the cinema? We shall not discuss these simple things. Choices between right and wrong, on the other hand, are generally very easy to see, and usually very easy to make. The only difficulty is that occasionally the choice of wrong offers us some material advantage, and we must weigh forgoing that advantage into our choice.

"No, the truly difficult choices are between wrong and wrong. Do you cause your friend pain by telling her you think her new outfit hideous, or do you sacrifice your integrity and lie? This is a simple example, but a frequently occurring one. There are many who agonize over such decisions, for each path is wrong in a fundamental sense. We must thank whatever agents watch over us that choices between wrong and wrong seldom rise above the relatively harmless trivialities of day to day living.

"Severus Snape, you were presented on these two occasions with a choice between wrong and wrong that I thank God has never been placed before me. In the case of Albus Dumbledore, do you commit murder, and thereby open the possibility of saving others, or do you renounce murder and open the way to scores of deaths? It was a cruel, cruel choice, and you had only seconds in which to make the decision. The case of Alastor Moody was equally cruel. Murder, or death in torment.

"The law requires the payment of a debt. It rests with my colleagues and I to determine how great that debt is. Hear the decision of the court. Severus Snape, having been found guilty of two counts of murder, you are hereby sentenced to six months of community service, the nature of that service to be determined by consultation between your legal counsel and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

An excited babble rose in the courtroom, which the judge silenced.

"There is more. Sixteen and a half years ago, you were found guilty on a large number of counts of aiding and abetting and, while sentenced to Azkaban, had that sentence suspended during time of good behavior as long as you remained within the custody of Albus Dumbledore. This court has determined that with time off for good behavior and for exemplary services to the wizarding community, the intent of that sentencing has been accomplished, its terms fulfilled, and time served. You are free from any further obligations as a result of that sentencing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this court is adjourned." The courtroom rose as one person while the three judges retired from the room.

Almost immediately, Snape spoke to the bailiff and was also escorted out. There were several who had wished to shake his hand and congratulate him on the decision, but by the time they reached the floor of the chamber, he was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Monday, August 10, 1998 (2 days after the full moon)_

There ought to have been nothing unusual about the breakfast _cum_ staff meeting that Monday morning, for the staff had already been gathered for a week to prepare for the incoming students. It was to be a special and particularly difficult year, during which all the problems created the year before would have to be addressed and resolved. Those difficulties had, nonetheless, already been discussed, so there was puzzled speculation as to why Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was drumming her fingers irritably on the arm of her chair, the seat next to her ostentatiously empty.

That speculation was laid to rest at nine-thirty, however, when the slender, slightly hunched figure of Severus Snape appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall. McGonagall rose, her face glowing in welcome. "It's about time you got here," she chided in mock reproof. "Come sit by me, Severus, and let me introduce you to your colleagues in your new role."

There was a certain awkwardness as Snape made his way into the Great Hall, most of the others not having had the opportunity to speak to him since before the Battle of Hogwarts.

It was Flitwick who broke the ice, strutting forward to 'face' Snape at a forty-five degree angle. "Stunned me so you wouldn't have to fight me, eh," he challenged. "That was a wise move, son, because I'd have whupped your sorry little behind." He held out a hand. "Welcome back, Severus."

Severus took Flitwick's hand. "Thank you, sir," he said, "though as to the whupping, we might try a little friendly sparring just to be sure. I've had my fair share of dueling, too, you know."

The whole staff came forward then to shake hands and welcome Snape home. It was Hagrid, though, who took charge. "What d' they feed you at that Ministry, anyway? Y're skinny as a rail. You sit down now and get some food into that carcass or I'll have t'…"

"You can't sit on him, Hagrid," said McGonagall sternly. "I need him."

Snape sat and filled his plate with enough food to mollify Hagrid while McGonagall explained to the rest.

"As you have all by now heard, the Board of Governors has convened and has given us a mandate to revise the curriculum of Hogwarts. Please note the word 'us.' This is not a curriculum being imposed upon us across the board, but one that we must help devise. We are, after all, the ones who know our subjects best. To assist in this endeavor, the Board has created a new administrative position at the school – Deputy Headmaster in charge of Curriculum. The position is outside the normal school hierarchy and has no supervisory authority over either teachers or students. That authority remains with me. What the new Deputy Headmaster does have is instructions from the Board of Governors to totally rewrite the curriculum for the course Muggle Studies, and to add two new strands of study, mathematics and science. Insofar as your own areas are concerned, there may be some adjustment in the curriculum, but it will happen slowly, and only after consultation with you. Professor, did you wish to add anything?"

"At this time very little," said Snape. "Nothing is changing tomorrow that will effect your classes at all. There will, however, be a major change at Hogwarts that we'll need everyone's assistance in dealing with. There are no wizards capable of teaching these new courses, so we're going to have to get instructors from the muggle world. In addition, and I'm sorry to have to burden you with this, you all are going to have to receive some instruction in the new courses yourselves."

"Muggle teachers? In Hogwarts?" Slughorn cried above the general hum that greeted this news. "Where are you going to get muggle teachers? Doesn't that violate the laws about secrecy?"

"Fortunately," Snape explained, "there is already a substantial number of muggles who do know about us. Most of them are close relatives of muggle-borns or half-bloods. A few years ago, you recall, we had a muggle-born witch named Penelope Clearwater. She has an aunt who is a mathematics teacher who also knows about Miss Clearwater's magical ability and about Hogwarts. We hope to find our new staff members among people like her."

"Won't that be difficult for them?" Sprout asked. "Being nonmagical people surrounded by witches and wizards, their students able to hex and jinx them…"

"We must make it very clear from the beginning," said McGonagall, "that we as teachers hold our new colleagues in high regard. We must set an example by treating them with great respect. And the penalties for students misbehaving toward muggle teachers must be stringent. Perhaps automatic expulsion."

"I do not see," grumbled Trelawney, "why we have to be instructed by these muggles ourselves. What could they possibly teach us?"

Snape managed to hide his irritation. "Can anyone at this table," he asked benignly, "tell me what the square root of one hundred forty-four is?" He sat quietly while the others fidgeted and exchanged glances. "The concept of squaring numbers is rather basic," Snape said after a moment. "Imagine being asked by an eleven-year-old and not having a clue what the child is talking about. For the maintenance of our own authority and dignity, we must have some background, however slight, in these new subjects."

There was general agreement at that – grudging, but agreement. Even those with no interest whatsoever in math or science understood authority and dignity. Breakfast ended, and the teachers went about their business preparing for the coming school year, one that would have great challenges. Snape followed McGonagall up to her office.

"Well, look who's back!" exclaimed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus as Snape entered what had, for a fleeting year, been his own domain. "We were all pleased to hear you'd be rejoining us."

"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled. "It won't be a holiday either. You have your work cut out for you."

"We need to talk about that," said McGonagall, directing Snape to a comfortable chair. "It's going to be a topsy-turvy year."

It soon became apparent to Snape just how topsy-turvy things would be. To begin with, there had been no exams at the end of the previous school year. For most of the students, this was not a problem, but the fifth and seventh years had not taken their OWLs and NEWTs The teachers had to offer extra refresher courses for those, including returning seventh years who would commute from their homes, who wished to review the material before the exams were given during the first week of October.

Another major problem was that the muggle-born students who hadn't been able to attend Hogwarts the year before had now to be accommodated, most of them starting a year behind where they should have been with the opportunity to catch up to their old classmates if they worked diligently enough.

"Do they want to come back?" Snape asked McGonagall. "After all, we haven't exactly treated them well as a community."

"I've already written to all the families," McGonagall said. "The response was quite favorable. They are also pleased at the prospect of muggle instructors. It makes them feel less like outsiders."

One good thing was that repairs to the damaged castle were almost completed. By the time the students arrived on September first, Hogwarts would once again be in excellent condition.

Snape spent the rest of the week traveling around Britain interviewing candidates for the teaching positions. It rather shocked him how many teachers knew about the magical world and learned of the openings through something called a grapevine – a means of muggle communication that Snape reluctantly had to admit he'd not heard of before. Most of the candidates had relatives who were witches or married to magical folk. Others just knew. It was almost disturbing to find out how loose the concept of 'secrecy' was.

Degree of preparation was an important factor. Some candidates were prepared to teach at an elementary level, but not the more advanced subjects the school needed. Others could handle the secondary curriculum, but had not been aware that many of their students would be starting with no background in the material at all.

Still another question was family. The magical teachers at Hogwarts could apparate home every evening if they so wished. Muggle teachers could not. If a candidate didn't wish to board at Hogwarts, arrangements had to be discussed concerning side-along apparation or portkeys.

And then, of course, there was the matter of salary. Payment in galleons was out of the question.

"Is it a good thing or a bad thing," McGonagall asked at the end of the week as Snape shared his progress with her, "that the list has narrowed so dramatically in so short a time? It makes our selection easier, but it is not exactly encouraging that so many either did not find the situation attractive, or were not qualified for this type of post."

"This is just our first foray into the muggle job market," Snape told her. "I think on the whole we've been surprisingly lucky."

Between them, Snape and McGonagall managed to settle on the three they needed. The Muggle Studies teacher would be a young man in his mid twenties, John Bradford. McGonagall studied the static muggle photograph with some appreciation. "He certainly will keep the young ladies interested in their studies," she remarked.

"The young gentlemen as well, I hope," replied Snape, "though for somewhat different reasons. He's active and enthusiastic, interested in athletics and computers, drives a sports car, is involved in local politics, and in every way seems the type to cause young wizards and witches to look carefully at his world and picture themselves in it. He's connected somehow to the Finch-Fletchleys."

The Mathematics teacher was Mrs. Margaret Clearwater, a sensible looking woman in her thirties, and the aunt by marriage of Snape's former pupil Penelope. "Will she be able to cope with prolonged separation from her family?" McGonagall inquired.

"Sad about that," said Snape, searching through his notes. "Her late husband was on the Brockdale Bridge the day it collapsed. She has two children… Here it is. Jane, age three, and Robert, age two. She asks if they can live with her in the castle. I think she hopes at least one of them has magical ability. Her muggle husband's brother did, after all, produce a magical child."

"They are young enough that they can be kept out of the way of the school. On social occasions the little ones may even add something. Who's our last one?"

"Life and Physical Sciences," said Snape, "would be Jessica Davis. Do you see anything familiar in the face?"

The face in question was sharp and shrewd, one that looked as if it would challenge its owner's young charges and keep them on their toes. "Slytherin girl, Tracey Davis," said McGonagall at once. "One of those coming back to take her NEWTs in October. This would be an aunt, then? And unmarried by the name." She glanced over at Snape. "How old is she?"

"Early forties, I think," said Snape. "I'll give you the complete folders, and you can send out the letters."

xxxxxxxxxx


	12. Chapter 12

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 12**

_Monday, August 24, 1998 (2 days after the new moon)_

With a little magical assistance, all three of the new muggle teachers, plus the new Dark Arts teacher, were able to arrive just over a week before the academic year started. Snape went personally down to Hogsmeade at eight o'clock that Monday morning to escort them onto the grounds. Fortunately, McGonagall had prepared him for the Dark Arts instructor.

The new teachers had gathered in the Three Broomsticks, gravitating quite naturally to each other, and were chatting politely when Snape entered. The new Muggle Studies professor was young and athletically tan, with sun-bleached hair. Clearwater, the math teacher, had brown hair pulled back from her face into a bun and pale eyes. Davis, teaching science, was more vivacious, her blond hair cut short, her blue eyes twinkling. Snape crossed immediately to greet the ladies and shake John Bradford's hand. "It's good to see you again," he said. "I hope you all had a pleasant trip up here." Then he turned to the fourth new teacher, who happened to be Dawlish, also John, from the Ministry of Magic, Auror Office, an older man with short, wiry gray hair.

"We've had an auror in this position before. He tended to get called away a lot. Not that that was necessarily bad – it made things calmer. Will we be seeing more of you?"

"Probably," said Dawlish who, like Bradford, had risen at Snape's approach. "I have more to keep me here and less to pull me away."

He extended his hand, and Snape shook it, noting the firmer than usual grip. "Am I part of what's keeping you here?"

"Probably," Dawlish repeated coolly. " He motioned to the table. "We were just getting acquainted. I see you've met the others."

"Yes, I interviewed them all." Snape reached to pull over a chair from the table next to them. "In case you haven't gotten that far yet, Miss Davis is teaching Science, Mrs. Clearwater Math, and Mr. Bradford has Muggle Studies. Mr. Dawlish is teaching one of our more traditional classes – Defense against the Dark Arts. Would you mind if I joined you for a few minutes before we go to the school itself?"

They shifted to make room for his seat, and Madam Rosmerta brought another cup of coffee.

"The rest of the staff is already there, and has been for three weeks," Snape continued, stirring a minuscule amount of sugar into his cup. "We don't really need all that time to get our classes ready, but our contracts only allow us a month's vacation, we enjoy the socializing and the extra time to plan projects, and the spells protecting the school work better if the castle is occupied most of the time."

"The castle?" said Bradford, "There's a ruined old castle up on the hill with 'Keep Out' signs all around it, but nothing else even remotely resembling a school. If you don't mind my asking, where exactly is the school? It can't be in that castle."

"Well, that's the beauty of it, isn't it," replied Snape. "Nobody can see it's there unless we show them. That ruined old castle is the school. It's protected by very ancient confounding spells, and unless you approach it in the right way from the right direction, you'll never see it. I was hoping in a few minutes you would all feel like a bit of a walk in the fresh air. It'll take about twenty minutes. If you're not up to it, we could hire a wagon." He turned to Dawlish. "You could go right up, of course. I presume you still know your way around. It's only been, what, forty years?"

"I'll take the tour," Dawlish said impassively. "And if you recall, I was here a couple of years ago."

The three muggles agreed enthusiastically to the walk. Snape then briefed them quickly on what would happen. "We'll reach the castle shortly after nine o'clock. By then all the others will have gathered for breakfast. You'll all be introduced and have a chance to socialize. No business will take place until later. After breakfast I'll show you to your classrooms, offices, and living quarters, and give you a quick tour of the building and grounds. We'll have lunch with the headmistress in her office, and then you have all afternoon to settle in. Dinner at six and more socializing. The real work begins tomorrow."

"Sounds like you have a pretty relaxed time at Ministry expense in August," Dawlish commented. "Does the Board know?"

Snape grimaced at him. "We're paid by the year, not by the hour. August makes up for being on duty twenty-four – seven the rest of the time. But you knew that."

"Excuse me," said Miss Davis, "but is there something between you two that we should know about?"

"Nothing important," Snape assured her. "Mr. Dawlish here is a policeman. He's keeping an eye on things."

"Ah, yes," chimed in Bradford. "The troubles you told us about. Last term. But that's over now, right?"

"Indeed," Dawlish said. "We're rounding up the last of the them now."

"The easy ones," added Snape maliciously. "The hard word was done in June."

Dawlish grinned. "And you don't have to worry about Professor Snape. He was exonerated on all but two charges." The tone of his voice was light, clearly joking.

"Oh, well, only two," Bradford laughed, the ladies joining him. "That's all right, then."

Before they left the Three Broomsticks, Snape took care to introduce the four to Madam Rosmerta as more than occasional customers. On the way out of Hogsmeade, he pointed out certain commercial establishments of note, particularly Honeydukes, and then they were strolling through the rugged countryside of northern Scotland on their way to the Hogsmeade station to the south. When the station came into view, Snape stopped his little procession.

"We are about to be met by one of the mainstays of Hogwarts," he told them, wondering if he sounded as much like a tour guide as he felt. "His name is Rubeus Hagrid, and he's half giant. Please don't be alarmed by his size. He's one of the gentlest people I know. He's keeper of the grounds, he'll get you anything you need that doesn't involve instructional supplies, and he's the teacher of the Care of Magical Creatures course."

Snape's warning was well merited. Even with it, the three muggle teachers had trouble hiding their shock at Hagrid's relatively enormous size. Hagrid was brimming with self-importance as he showed them all around the tiny station and explained how the older students took thestral carriages ('Thestrals?' Mrs. Clearwater murmured softly), while the first years had to approach by boat.

"That's what does it," Hagrid told them. "It's the boats as lets them see Hogwarts clearly. Once ya come in on a boat, y're not confounded anymore."

They made their way down the steep path to the lake. At a quarter to nine in the morning it was nowhere near as mysterious as at eight o'clock at night. Still, the first view of the castle through the trees was stunning.

"Oh my!" gasped Miss Davis. "What a spectacular setting! It's almost like Neuschwanstein!"

"We've been told that often," Snape responded, shaking his head at Hagrid, mentally running through all the pictures of castles he'd ever seen and trying to remember which, if any, was Neuschwanstein.

There were three little boats on the tiny beach. "I'll need one for myself," said Hagrid. "Mr. Dawlish, you've done this before. You go with Mr. Bradford. Professor Snape can look after the ladies."

Snape thus found himself accompanying both women in one boat, pointing out interesting spots on the shore, telling them about the merpeople, and warning them of the giant squid who, like Hagrid, was large but essentially harmless, and listening to their oohs and aahs all the way across the water into the cool dimness of the boat grotto under the castle.

The climb up the narrow rock passage was easily accomplished, and then they were entering the great oaken doors of Hogwarts castle and crossing past the marble staircase to the Great Hall.

Breakfast went well, primarily because it was a social rather than a professional event. McGonagall made it very clear that no curricular work was to be imposed on the new staff until they'd had a chance to settle in. The old staff, having feared the new staff would impose curricular work on them, was immensely relieved. Flitwick got into an involved conversation with Bradford on the exact and detailed nature of an airplane flight to Sydney, Australia, while Sinistra and Davis discussed astrophysics, Sinistra concentrating on the astro, and Davis on the physics parts of the exchange. Clearwater and Vector compared number theories, and everyone got along splendidly.

When breakfast was over, Snape took the three muggle teachers to their apartments on the sixth floor. In the grand scheme of maintaining after-hours discipline and order, Slughorn had the dungeons, Filch the ground floor, Binns and Pomfrey the first floor, Dawlish the second floor, Flitwick the third floor, Pince the fourth floor, Sprout the fifth floor, and McGonagall (in her new headmistress role) the seventh floor. The three muggle teachers would work together to patrol the sixth floor. The other teachers commuted home every evening.

"And where will you be, Professor?" asked Miss Davis, a cunning look in her eyes.

"I'm not certain," replied Snape. "As Potions teacher, I was in the Dungeons. As headmaster, I was on the seventh floor. For the past couple of weeks I've been living at home in Lancashire, but I expect to be lodged here during the school year. Probably on the fifth floor with Sprout."

The new teachers were also shown the staff bathroom, and then toured the grounds from the Whomping Willow to the heights of Gryffindor tower. By that time it was lunch time, and they, now minus Dawlish, who returned to London, followed Snape to the spiral staircase behind the Griffin statue.

Once in McGonagall's office, the real planning began.

"You can't have mathematics classes strictly by year," Mrs. Clearwater explained. "The muggle-born students have taken math in school. They have the grade-level math. The wizarding students could be deficient. Every student needs to be assessed on arrival to find out where in the spectrum of mathematics courses each belongs."

The same was true with the sciences, since the incoming muggle-born students would have had some elementary science, the half-bloods possibly, and the purebloods certainly not. Most of the afternoon was spent mapping out curricular paths.

The muggle teachers seemed amazed that the Hogwarts teachers were used to having only ten students per class (double classes having twenty), and that these classes generally met only once or twice per week. "Do you know how many of us," Davis told McGonagall, "would kill for classes that small? On the other hand, several of you have seven preps each. That's a bit much."

"What does she mean," McGonagall demanded later from Snape, "by seven preps each? I have no idea what she's talking about."

"I think she means the number of different lessons we have to prepare for," Snape said. "It's a whole new jargon, but preps could be preparations. When I taught Potions, for example, I had twelve double classes, but within each year, from first through fifth, the two classes were the same. So I really only prepared for seven classes, but gave five of them twice. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose so. Is teaching really this complicated in the muggle world?"

"They have a lot more to teach."

"Do you think so?"

Snape paused before answering, not wanting to sound too critical of his colleagues. "Really, Minerva, how long does it take to memorize a star chart? Our Astronomy students are taking five years to learn what they could master in one. It's a waste of time to require the course from first through fifth years. Why not hold it back until third year, and then incorporate physics as part of the curriculum? It's the same with Transfiguration – and I know I'm going to be a target for projectile missiles for saying so. Does the mastery of Transfiguration really take five years? If we waited a year or two for the students to get a sound basis in Charms, wouldn't it be easier? And Transfiguration in the upper years is the natural place to be teaching molecular theory and advanced chemistry. Elementary chemistry, of course, would be part of the Potions course. Upper level Potions could be a kind of pre-Med."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "Define pre-Med," she insisted.

"Premedical. The courses students take if they're planning to be healers."

"This whole muggle business is amazingly complex," McGonagall sighed.

"Only because you're not used to it," Snape reassured her. "Once we get used to the new curricular paths, it'll be so much easier."

"I hope so," said McGonagall.

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_Tuesday, September 1, 1998 (2 days after the first quarter)_

Probably the hardest part about the rest of the week was convincing the other teachers that they, too, needed to be assessed and workshops started. Snape didn't call it remedial math, but basically that was what it was. The course that was the most fun to work with was Muggle Studies, where Snape and Bradford were putting together a unit on dressing and shopping and being inconspicuous in the muggle world.

Also during that week, the three moved personal belongings into their quarters, and on the weekend the two Clearwater children arrived, brought through an empty entrance hall and up quiet stairs because they were small and shy, nervous in the unfamiliar surroundings.

The morning of September first, Snape woke early. It was the last morning until the Christmas break that the castle would be calm and quiet, free of students. Snape padded over to the window on bare feet and opened the curtains to look down on the lake. In all his years at Hogwarts, he'd lodged in the dungeons near Slytherin house until the last year when he'd been headmaster. That was when he discovered that he liked the sun and the fresh air that rooms higher up afforded. He even wondered if maybe that wasn't part of the problem with the Slytherin students, they being the only house that didn't have windows.

In one corner of the bedroom, there was a washstand with a large basin and a pitcher of magically hot water for Snape to wash with. The house-elves had provided him with this every morning since he started teaching. He crossed over to the washstand and started to pour water into the basin, then stopped, looking down at his hands.

There was an ink stain on his right ring finger. He'd been careless with a quill two days before, and though the stain had faded with washing, it was still there. Something like this would never have bothered Snape before, but somehow today it did. He didn't want to go down to breakfast with old ink stains on his fingers. That was when the thought came to him and, wrapping himself in a dressing gown and carrying the clothes he would wear that day, Snape sneaked out of his room to go to the teachers' bathroom. It was, after all, early; no one else would be around.

The enormous bathroom with its huge, sunken, pool-like tub was just as intimidating as it had been that first year when McGonagall had taken him on his tour of all the parts of the school he'd never seen as a student. Locking the door securely, Snape began experimenting with the faucets, quickly turned off anything that had even the faintest whiff of perfume, and soon drew himself a deep, warm bath.

It was bliss. Snape let the warmth soak into his muscles and bones and wondered why he'd never wanted to do this before. It probably had something to do with the mirrors. He hated mirrors, not wanting to remind himself that he was, face it, not good-looking. Still, one could always avoid looking in the mirrors.

Twenty minutes later, Snape was toweling himself dry and getting dressed. Then he did glance into a mirror and was annoyed by the fact that his still damp hair was straggly and unkempt. He combed it in the usual way, then trimmed some of the uneven places. That was better, but it caused him to notice that his fingernails were broken and rough. It took but a moment to smooth them down, and then he gathered his things and returned to his room.

Breakfast was relaxed and enjoyable, the staff making the most of their last day of freedom to joke about in a very unprofessorial manner, Flitwick even trying, unsuccessfully, to start a food fight. Snape enjoyed the moment in his normal calm, somewhat distant way, and didn't realize that Professor McGonagall was watching him closely.

Once breakfast was over and the teachers gone to make last-minute adjustments to their rooms, McGonagall went upstairs to the headmistress's office, sealed the door on the spiral staircase, and opened a floo connection to St. Mungo's hospital. "Healer Pennywhistle, please," she told the orderly. To Pennywhistle she gave a detailed account of her observations.

"Let me be sure I understand this," said Pennywhistle. "There was no great change in his normal appearance, just little things?"

"That's exactly it," said McGonagall. "I might not have noticed myself that there was anything different, except he was sitting next to me. Hair trimmed, manicure… It was Severus, but a… I can't say a new Severus, more like a slightly polished Severus."

"That's most encouraging news, Minerva," Pennywhistle said with a smile. "I've been worried about him and about the fact that no one, not even Albus or Hagrid, seemed to pay any attention to the warning signs. Lack of concern for personal appearance and hygiene is one of the clearest symptoms of deep depression there is. He's apparently been clinically depressed for most of his life without getting any treatment for it. Maybe the defeat of Voldemort has given him the chance to break out of it. Keep me informed if you notice anything else. And thank you again. You've made my day."

McGonagall made her rounds during the course of the day, chatting with all the teachers and inspecting all the rooms. She ran into Snape on several occasions, and each time noted that he seemed more relaxed than usual. Then it struck her that he, alone among them, was not preparing to teach classes. Even she would be continuing in Transfiguration, entrusting many of her administrative duties to Snape.

A Snape who did not have to deal with hordes of children on a daily basis might actually turn out to be a reasonably pleasant person.

xxxxxxxxxx

"A thestral," Snape was explaining to the three muggle professors, "is a kind of spectral, skeletal horse with wings. They're rather disturbing to look at, which makes it convenient that for most people they're invisible. They become visible only to those who've seen another person die. The first years will be coming in by boat, but all the others will arrive in thestral carriages. Normally there are about forty carriages, each carrying six students, but we'll be especially crowded this year with all the returning students who couldn't sit for their NEWTs in June. So there'll be around fifty carriages. I suggest you watch part of the arrival from the main doors, then take your places in the Great Hall before it gets too crowded."

Next Snape, in his new role as an administrator, checked the Hall itself, with its extra tables for the unusual crowd. Luckily setting up the Hall was the business of the house-elves, who'd done their usual splendid job. Snape would not be back in his old place at the far end near the Slytherin table. Instead he would sit with the new muggle professors near the Gryffindor table, that being considered the best for the initial introductions. He wasn't at his most comfortable near Gryffindor, but there was little he could do about it.

Around eight-fifteen, the call went up, "They're here!" and the teachers moved to their places, some to the Great Hall, some to the entrance hall, and the rest out on the lawn watching the long line of carriages approach. This time, every teacher except the newest could see the thestrals. Snape was reminded of his own first view of them, when he'd just started teaching before the first fall of Voldemort, and remembered the speculative expression on McGonagall's face that day seventeen years before. _No wonder she was suspicious. I made it fairly clear I'd never seen them before. Where else but in the Dark Lord's service would I have watched someone die in the course of those three years?_

Then Snape was in the midst of the crowd, getting students out of carriages as speedily as possible so the thestrals could be released quickly, and the area wouldn't become too crowded. He realized after a moment that his presence was causing a mild stir, but he ignored it, and the students quickly slipped into old habits. Of those back to prepare for missed NEWTs Snape recognized Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis who must already know her aunt was to teach science, Daphne Greengrass and Lilith Moon, but no Draco and no Gregory, and Vincent, of course, was dead.

The students were seated, the staff took their places, and the first years entered timidly. The Sorting went off without a hitch, five boys and five girls to each house. (_Sometime this year I'm going to have to confront that blasted Hat._ Snape thought. _They must give it a peek at the list first._) McGonagall rose to welcome the students back, and the feast began.

A quarter of an hour into the feast, while Snape was pointing out the ghosts to the new teachers, a shadow – both literal and figurative – darkened his life. He looked up to find Potter standing in front of him on the other side of the table, a Potter flanked by Weasley and Granger.

"Professor Davis, Professor Clearwater, Professor Bradford," said Snape politely, rising as he made introductions, "may I present the well-known Harry Potter and his companions, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."

Pleasantries were exchanged, but Potter was not one to let grass grow under his feet. "I'm sorry to be a nuisance when we're all supposed to be making merry," he said, "but we wanted to catch you before anything got set in stone."

"And the cause of your concern would be…?"

"NEWTs," said Granger, going directly to the point. "Unless we want to take the entire year's course, we have to try to cram everything in in one month."

"And that has… what to do with me?" Snape asked.

"They're fobbing us off with Slughorn and that Savage person," butted in Weasley. "I don't want to spend another year with either Slughorn or an auror. I want to pass the NEWTs in October and start a real life."

"And that has… what to do with me?" Snape repeated.

"Everyone knows you're the best for Potions," said Harry. "And probably for Dark Arts as well. We'd like you to lighten the workload of the others by taking the rapid-preparation classes. It's only for one month, and the classes would be tiny."

"And while you're at it," came Sprout's voice from behind Snape, causing him to turn and face her, "he's not a bad hand at Herbology either. "I could outline the essentials of the course…"

"And then, of course, there's Charms," chimed in Flitwick. "Severus isn't a bad hand at Charms, either. It's just a refresher course, after all. Most of them took the whole course from me last year. Just a refresher."

"What of it, Severus?" asked McGonagall, the last to come up and enter the fray. "Four classes, five days a week, only intensive NEWT candidates, and only until the beginning of October."

"I'll have to think about it," Snape replied. "Meanwhile, I have to eat dinner. If I don't, Hagrid will sit on me." He resumed his seat, and the conversation was temporarily over. McGonagall returned to her place, conceding him game, but as yet neither set nor match.

It became abundantly clear later that evening in the staff room where the teachers congregated for a little socializing before going home and/or to bed, that the issue was not going away. Snape was the only one who did not want it settled by a vote.

"The Board of Governors has specifically ruled that this is not to be a teaching position," he pointed out to anyone willing to pay attention. "I'm not supposed to be in the classroom."

"And it isn't a teaching position, dear," was Sprout's reply. "You won't be teaching, you'll be reviewing. All the students who didn't attend Hogwarts last year, with three exceptions, will be talking the entire year course. You'll have only the ones who took the course last year and feel they need the review. Those confident of passing without a review will simply show up for the tests. So you'll get the ones willing to work."

"And the three exceptions, naturally, are…

"Potter, Granger, and Weasley, of course. Don't worry. I'll give you a full outline of what they're expected to know."

"It's not as if you'll be in over your head," Flitwick added. "They're both courses you got Outstanding in when you sat for your NEWTs. You'll be fine."

"I'm not teaching four classes a day, five days a week and handling the administrative work, too," Snape insisted.

"Three days a week," said McGonagall, and that was where it finally settled. Snape was handling the NEWT review for those taking the exams in October – classes in Potions, Defense against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Herbology – to be held Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for four and a half weeks.

It turned out to be much easier than he had anticipated.

First, of course, they were NEWT classes. The students had all shown themselves to be highly competent in their subjects and were so eager to pass their exams in October that they were probably the most highly motivated classes he'd ever taught.

Second, a fact Snape didn't focus on until after he sat down with McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn to outline the material, he didn't have to assign homework. This was not a regular course, it was a review.

Finally, since the summer's revelations concerning the work he'd done for Dumbledore in combating Voldemort, the students held him somewhat in awe, and treated him with great respect, the Gryffindor students from guilt over the erroneous opinion they'd previously held, and the other houses pleased that they'd been more or less right about him all along.

It looked as if the month of September was not going to be so bad after all.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Friday, September 18, 1998 (2 days before the new moon)_

At breakfast on Friday at the end of the third week of classes, Snape had a suggestion for Professors Davis, Clearwater, and Bradford.

"You've been cooped up in the world of witches and wizards quite long enough. It occurred to me you might fancy a break. Petula Clark's performing this evening at Leamington Spa, and I was thinking you might like to go to the concert. Courtesy of Hogwarts, of course. Early dinner before the show."

There was a little discussion while Davis and Clearwater explained to Bradford who Petula Clark was. It was then that all three agreed enthusiastically that they'd love to go, and that a pub dinner was in order after all the house-elf-prepared fare they'd been eating for a month.

Waiting late that afternoon by the marble staircase in the entrance hall, Snape was soon joined by Professors Bradford and Davis. Just as they were beginning to wonder where Clearwater was, she came hurrying down to apologize.

"I'm not going to be able to make it tonight," she told the other three. "Robert's ill. He's got a fever and I can't leave him."

"Have you spoken to Madam Pomfrey?" Snape asked. "She should be able to help."

"She's there now."

"Let me go up for a moment," Snape said. "I have a bit more experience with muggle maladies than Pomfrey has."

Professor Clearwater's apartment, like all of those on the upper floors, including Snape's the floor below, was a suite of three rooms. The larger front room, used by Clearwater as a study and sitting room, opened separately onto a bedroom on the left, which she shared with her two young children, and a smaller room on the right that seemed to be a playroom. Madam Pomfrey was in the bedroom with the little boy.

"Any ideas?" Snape asked Pomfrey as he entered the room.

"Some sort of muggle malady. They have to be caused by things, though. Bacteria, or viruses, or bacilli of some sort. I can't imagine where he would have picked it up. Does this happen often?"

"Occasionally," sighed Clearwater. "If it weren't that he's just two years old, I'd almost suspect him of doing it on purpose. He always seems to get sick on nights I'm planning to go out. It's rather expensive, actually. Baby-sitters show up, and I have to give them something for their trouble, even if I don't need them after all because I'm not going out."

Snape had moved to the far side of the bed to check the child's left ear, and so was aware of a sudden movement at the room's doorway, movement Pomfrey and Clearwater did not see because they were facing away from the door. Snape glanced up at the distraction and was suddenly still.

There was an eye peeping around the jamb of the door, a bright blue eye less than two and a half feet off the ground. On a sudden whim, Snape shot a thought at the blue eye, and was astounded at the response. The eye blinked and disappeared.

"Tell me," Snape asked, "does the boy generally get ill well before it's time for you to go out, or a very short time before?"

"It varies from time to time. There's no real pattern."

"Do you know if it happens before or after you tell the children you're going out?"

"I hadn't noticed." Clearwater straightened up. "Professor, I know what you're thinking, and it's not possible. He's only two. He's just a baby. There's no way he could be doing this on purpose."

"I suppose that's true," Snape said. "Well, I'll be going now. We're all sorry you won't be able to come with us. I certainly hope the child recovers soon."

As he reached the door to the apartment, Snape turned. The blue eye was now peeping around the jamb of the playroom door. This time he sent no probing thought, merely turning and leaving to join Davis and Bradford in their excursion to Leamington Spa.

All that evening, Snape's mind was divided into two quite separate but equally alert compartments. The first focused on the evening, the company, the dinner, and the entertainment. The second concentrated on the images that floated, seemingly randomly, behind a pair of blue eyes.

_She's doing it. She probably has no idea how, but it's intentional. What a way to insure mommy stays at home every evening! I wonder how it got started…_

After a thoroughly enjoyable time, Snape apparated back to Hogwarts with his colleagues, Davis first and Bradford second. He walked up to the sixth floor with them. "I thought I'd take Clearwater a souvenir of the evening, even if she wasn't able to go."

Clearwater answered the door in her dressing gown.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Snape said. "I just wanted to see if the boy was all right and to give you a memento of the evening." He handed her a program from the concert. "There were some great old songs. Just looking at the titles brought back memories."

"Thank you," said Clearwater. "Thank you very much. Robert's fine. Whatever he had cleared up less than an hour after you'd gone. Would you like to…"

"No, it's late," Snape said. "I did, however, see something I thought the little girl might enjoy, and I took the liberty of getting it for her. It's nothing really, a trifle, but she may like it." Snape said this in a normal tone of voice, not trying to be loud, but not trying to be soft either. He handed Clearwater a stuffed toy, a swaggering little bear holding a rough staff, both bear and staff made of cloth.

"The bear and ragged staff!" Clearwater exclaimed, "How darling!"

"What else would you get in Warwickshire?" Past Clearwater's shoulder, Snape could see that his ruse had worked, for in the dimness of the bedroom doorway, the blue eye was once again peeping. "I won't keep you any longer," he told Clearwater. "You need your rest, and I don't want to wake the children."

"Goodnight, then," said Clearwater. "Thank you again. I'm sure Jane will love it."

"Goodnight," Snape responded. Yet as he entered his own rooms and got ready for bed, he could not help but speculate on the owner of the bright blue eyes.

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_Saturday, September 19, 1998_

"You know," Snape commented to Professor Clearwater the next morning at breakfast, "we haven't seen the children at all since you arrived. It's such a beautiful day, today. Wouldn't it be a good idea for them to be out in the sunshine?"

Clearwater looked embarrassed. "To tell you the truth," she admitted, "I've been trying to get them to come out. They're afraid of the castle. We do a lot of jumping and playing in our rooms, but they don't want to go out into that stone corridor. It's so different from what they're used to. I don't want to make it worse by forcing them."

"If you don't mind my asking, who's watching them now?"

"One of those strange elf creatures. She's sat with them ever since we arrived. Her name's Winky."

"Do they get along?"

"Famously. At first, of course, the children were terribly shy, but Winky's sweet and loving. Sad, too, as if she's had some tragedies in her life, but that seems to have made her very patient with small children." Clearwater smiled. "The first couple of days, before the students even arrived, my two were so withdrawn I was considering resigning right there, but now it's 'Winky this,' and 'Winky that…' They really seem to love her."

"Maybe she could help. Your windows face southwest, don't they?"

"I think so. We get a bit of the lake on the left, and a bit of that big sports area on the right."

"Do the children like playgrounds? Things like sandboxes or swings?"

"Very much indeed. What did you have in mind?"

"It's a corner the students don't frequent. It would be a simple matter to install a little playground."

"So in a few days…"

"Few days? My dear lady, we are wizards here, remember. If the headmistress concurs, we could have something out there before you get back upstairs. The chore will be getting the children to come down to it. Maybe Winky could help lure them."

They kept the students away from the staircases on the southwest side – not difficult since they were seldom used anyway – and miracle of miracles, by ten two small tots, their mother, and a house-elf were edging their way out to the allurements of a sandbox, swings, and a slide that were exactly the right size equipped with exactly the right pails, shovels, and even a tricycle on a little flat track. Snape was there, but he sat far off to one side on a stone bench, leaning back against the castle wall. The sun was by now high enough in the sky that their corner of the hilltop was bright and warm, and would remain so all afternoon.

_How do you tell if a three-year-old child is a witch?_ Snape thought. _I don't really have much to go on. Just the coincidence of a mother who can conveniently never go out, and a child who seems aware that her brother is holding her mother at home. Yet I'm sure it's the girl's will prevailing, not the boy's. If there was only some way to get her to think of her abilities more overtly… Steady, Severus, she's only three._

After a while, Snape began to observe that the boy didn't talk. That didn't worry him because his own grandmothers had related to him the story of how he hadn't talked until his mother stopped 'reading' him with legilimency. Sure enough, it was soon evident that the girl was translating her brother's needs. _He doesn't talk because someone else is doing it for him. But is it legilimency, or just some basic animal form of communication that all very young children understand?_

At that point, Snape was struck by a rather disturbing thought. _Here I am beginning to get obsessive over the idea that this child of muggle parents might be a witch. Would I be remotely interested in her if I had no suspicion that she might be magical? Am I just as prejudiced as the Dark Lord was about the superiority of magical people to nonmagical people?_ Snape didn't like that thought at all.

But the sun was warm, the day quiet, and the bench even comfortable, and after a while Snape began to doze. He was just entering another, more familiar playground, where a little girl with red hair and bright green eyes was holding a flower, a flower that was magically blossoming in her hands, and saying, "Don't you wish she was like me?" when he was startled awake by loud squealing.

The squealing came from little Jane Clearwater, who'd left her mother and was racing toward the cliff edge, finger pointing into the air. Professor Clearwater was right behind, close enough to catch hold of her, also looking up and laughing at her daughter's excitement. Snape turned in the direction of their gaze and smiled a bit himself. A little distance away, over the stands of the Quidditch pitch, Ginny Weasley had risen high into the air on her broom, ready for the first practice of the season, her long red hair streaming behind her in the wind of the broom's speed.

"Fly, Mommy!" Jane shrieked. "Girl's flying! Look! Look, Mommy! She flied in the sky!"

"Yes she is, dear!" Professor Clearwater laughed. "She's flying. Can you see what she's sitting on? It's flying, and she's riding it."

Jane crowed and squealed and clapped her hands, and when Ginny flew a little lower and closer, the three-year-old cried, "It's a broom, Mommy! Girl's riding a broom!" More Quidditch players rose to join Ginny, keeping the little girl in ecstasy for nearly half an hour until desire changed the subject. "Mommy," Jane demanded with the intensity that makes being three so difficult. "Mommy, I want a broom, too."

"Now Jane, that girl up there is a big girl. Flying brooms are for big girls. Maybe when you're bigger we can talk about brooms."

"But I want one! I wanna broom! I wanna fly on a broom!" The little voice was edging into anger on it's way to obsessive fury.

"Jane, you have to stop shouting. You know what happens when you start shouting. It means we can't talk about it any more until you calm down."

"But I want one now! I want it now!"

"You can't have it now, dear. You have to calm down before we can talk about it."

"But I need it! I need it! I need it now!" Jane was crying as well as screaming, her unfulfilled desire for instant gratification building into a full-blown… episode. Snape could think of no other word for it. He deeply wished he could help resolve the issue.

"Maybe we could find the child a toy…" he started to suggest.

"Absolutely not," said Clearwater, taking her daughter's hand gently but firmly and beginning to draw her away from the cliff and its view of the Quidditch players, while Jane continued to wail. "It's in the nature of three-year-olds to throw tantrums, but if you give in to them you only make it worse. She's asserting her individual personality, which is good, but she has to learn to control it. The rule is, once you start throwing a tantrum, the discussion is over."

"What about later? I happen… eh, happen to know things are made for small children…"

"Maybe later, it might be wonderful later, but don't use it as a bribe. I'm going to have to take her in. Winky, could you bring Robert up, please? Thank you so much for the playground. I know we're going to use it a lot." Professor Clearwater escorted her howling daughter into the castle.

Snape looked first at Robert, who watched the show with wide, unconcerned eyes, as if he'd seen this innumerable times before. Then he looked down at Winky, and was surprised by the grief in the house-elf's eyes. "It's all right, Winky," Snape said. "It's just a tantrum. It's part of what muggles do to grow up. She'll get over it."

"Children should not be sad," sniffed Winky, walking over and taking little Robert's hand to lead him up the stairs in the wake of mother and sister.

"Don't wizard parents scold their children?" Snape asked, revealing the emphatic lack of a house-elf in his own childhood.

"Of course, Professor Snape. Wizard parents must scold. That is why house-elves like Winky must coddle. No broom, no, no. Not what the crying was about. The muggle lady is right, that would be bad. But when children push parents away, it is good if they have someone to go to."

_Push their parents away?_ Snape thought, standing alone in the deserted little playground. _Are tantrums a sort of emotional weaning? Are small children programmed to antagonize their parents as part of the process of forming an independent personality? If so, Clearwater is right. It would be positively harmful to the child to give in._

Snape turned away from the mysteries of child psychology to watch the Quidditch players. The Gryffindor Quidditch players. _If this is Ginny Weasley's first Quidditch practice, what are the odds someone else came down today to watch her?_ Snape headed for the Quidditch stands, looking for Harry Potter.

He found Potter sitting with the entire Weasley clan, all drinking in the miracle of Ginny once again on a broom. Approaching somewhat hesitantly, Snape said, "I'm sorry to intrude on your gathering, but I was hoping to be able to speak to…" The name 'Potter' was smothered in an enormous hug from the small, matronly Molly Weasley.

"We're so glad to see you, Severus. If you hadn't managed to find a way to free Ginny, we couldn't all be here today. Did you want to talk to Harry?" She released him and beckoned to Potter.

"Yes, I did," Snape replied, wishing he could escape the center of amused attention. "I hoped to be able to consult with him about broomsticks."

Snape and Harry strolled away from the Quidditch pitch and under the shadow of the reviewing stands. They were vaguely heading in the direction of the garden that lay between the pitch and Hogwarts hill. "Since when," Harry grinned, "have you been interested in brooms?"

"It isn't for me," Snape said, carefully and precisely. "It's for a child. A small child. I was given to understand that many witches and wizards are introduced to brooms – working, flying broomsticks – while still toddlers. I was wondering if you could advise me where to get one."

"I'm afraid I never had cause to look for a broomstick for someone that young. I've never even bought a broomstick for myself. Mine have always been given to me."

"You had one when you were quite young, didn't you?" It took a moment for Snape to realize that Harry was no longer beside him. He stopped and turned around. Harry had paused a few paces behind.

"How did you know that? How did you know I got a broom for my first birthday? I didn't even know about it until a year ago." They were still under the stands, in the cool shadows, and now faced each other, Harry with his fists unconsciously clenched.

"Lily told me," Snape said, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

"No. You had no contact after you graduated. She couldn't have told you…" Harry peered at Snape speculatively. "It's the letter, isn't it? You found it in Sirius's bedroom. You took the second page. That's how you know about the broom."

"What letter?" said Snape, but his assumed innocence was not convincing, at least not to Harry.

"The letter from my mom to Sirius thanking him for the broom he sent for my first birthday. The letter missing its second page. The letter with a photograph that's been torn. You tore the photograph to get the picture of my mother. That was my letter and my photograph. You had no right!" The very act of stating the grievance was making Harry angry.

"Whom was I hurting? The letter was innocuous, both sender and recipient were dead, and you clearly had no interest in it whatsoever. I was a bit overwrought on the day of that visit, but one of the things I pondered later was why, in an entire year of being master of Sirius Black's home, you'd so obviously made no effort at all to look through anything. Nothing was inventoried; nothing was even straightened. It was quite clear that Sirius's physical death ended any interest you had in the man. A year later I picked up a letter and a photograph that had been abandoned and neglected. I was there because of a dream message that I was being summoned. I looked into that room because I was seeking the summoner. Why were you there?"

"I was restless and bored that night. I stumbled across the room by accident." Harry stood his ground firmly, even though it was slipping from under his feet. "The letter still belongs to me."

"Face it, Potter, I knew her a lot longer than you did."

"She was my mother!"

"She was my friend."

Harry backed away, in a figurative sense. "Do you still have the picture?"

"Of course. It's up in my rooms in the castle. Do you still have the part with you and James?"

"Of course. I put with the other pictures that Hagrid and…"

"You have other pictures? How fortunate for you. I did not. That bit I took that day is the only picture I have of her."

Harry continued his figurative retreat. He was not going to fight Snape over the picture and the letter, not yet. Instead, he asked about something else. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"The reason for the dream? Yes, I did. It was in a bedroom on the floor below. There was a picture of Phineas Nigellus. He told me that Dumbledore needed to talk to me, and to be at Hogwarts on the day of Dumbledore's funeral to get instructions…"

"You were there that day?"

"Yes, in fact, I was. That was the day Dumbledore told me I had to accept the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Harry scratched his head. "I thought that was Voldemort's idea."

"It was," Snape said acidly, "but it was Dumbledore's as well. Kindred minds often follow the same paths."

"Could I see that picture of my mother?"

Snape regarded Harry for a moment, eyes guarded and mind closed. Or so he thought. An image flicked through his brain of those terrible minutes in the tiny tidal crevice of a cave on the Irish Sea, of icy water slowly engulfing him in the darkness, and of Harry squeezing himself into an impossibly tiny corner in order to give Snape room to ease more of his body out of the water. And, much as Snape hated to admit it, it had made it easier knowing that if he were to die there in the dark, he would not be alone. He even felt some sympathy for Harry's desire to know more about…"

_Wait a minute – did he just read me?_ It was a disturbing thought, for Snape had considered himself relatively locked down, and had not been looking at Harry's eyes. Then he noticed that Harry seemed embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said. "Was I meant to see that? I mean, it doesn't seem like the kind of thought you're usually free with. Excuse me for intruding. I… eh… withdraw the request."

"St. Mungo's" Snape said awkwardly. "It must have something to do with all that tinkering St. Mungo's is doing. I shall make a note reminding myself to discuss it with them."

"Are you all right, sir? Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm quite fine. Perfectly able to deal with it." Two more images bubbled up of their own accord, one of Hagrid saying 'There. You see? Proud,' and another of Dumbledore speculating on the possibility that Macnair might be right… Snape felt suddenly lightheaded. "On second thought, Potter, would you mind accompanying me to Hagrid's?"

"Of course, sir." Now there was no doubt about the underlying concern in Harry's face. "Would you rather have me run and fetch him?"

"It won't be necessary," Snape said as they started toward the path at the foot of the castle hill, around which they would have to go to get to Hagrid's hut. "It shouldn't take long to get there." Here, once again, there was some comfort knowing he wasn't alone, because now Snape was worried that he was losing control, and he didn't want it to happen in this open place, exposed to the gaze of everyone in Hogwarts.

They didn't walk quickly. There was a hesitant quality to Snape's movements that Harry wasn't used to. No one else would have noticed it – except probably Hagrid – but by now Harry had wandered enough in Snape's mind to see nuances he would never have noticed before. Thus he saw the tiny check and pause in Snape's stride, and he stopped the older man at once.

"Let me look," Harry urged. "I don't want to see the memory, just the metaphor."

"What are you talking about, Potter?"

"Professor Dumbledore explained it. An occlumens's mind thinks in metaphors."

Not completely understanding, Snape nonetheless permitted their eyes to meet. Harry skipped quickly past the memory of Dumbledore in Hagrid's hut with chaos swirling around him and went deeper, down to the level where the bubbles were pushing their way to the surface. These were not the small, dancing bubbles of boiling water, but the great viscous bubbles of rising magma that ascend slowly, to burst in slow motion and fill the surrounding air with searing heat and volcanic gases.

"Right," said Harry. He turned toward the castle and sent a patronus to Professor McGonagall, and then another to Hagrid. To Snape he said, "We'll just keep walking. It's only a couple of minutes. I guess if you let them up one at a time it won't be too bad."

Reasoning that Snape would not appreciate any overt show of support, Harry simply turned and continued their stroll towards Hagrid's hut, Snape beside him. For anyone watching, it would look as if they were conversing casually. For the most part, Snape seemed in control but apprehensive…

Hagrid came lumbering out to meet them as soon as they'd passed the curve of the hill. To all appearances, it was a chance encounter. "Out enjoying the day, I see," he grinned. "I were just about t' have a bite of lunch. Would you two like t' join me? I'd be pleased for the company."

Harry thanked him, and Snape nodded. Hagrid joined them in their stroll toward the hut and ushered them into its cheerful orderly disorder. "You just have a seat now, the both of you, while I fix some tea."

Settling himself on a stool near the door, Harry ostensibly watched Hagrid while really watching Snape. The older man sat at the table, leaning slightly against the supporting wood, nervous and restless. His eyes darted around the room; his fingers tapped rapidly on the arm of the chair. He seemed to be waiting for something bad to happen.

Hagrid had just finished making the tea and was setting out cups and pouring the rich, fragrant brew into them when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to admit Professor McGonagall and healer Pennywhistle from St. Mungo's.

"Guess I'll need two more cups," said Hagrid.

"Just one," McGonagall replied. "This isn't my business." She crossed the room and laid a hand on Snape's arm. "You take care of yourself," she told him, and then left the hut.

Pennywhistle sat at the table next to Snape. "I want to thank you for calling me when you needed help. I appreciate your confidence."

"I didn't call you," Snape said. His tone was neutral. It was a statement of fact.

"I asked for you," Harry said. "The professor wasn't feeling well, and he asked me to come here with him. He let me see some of it, and I thought you should know."

"I see," said Pennywhistle. "It was to you that he turned. That's even better news. Severus," she faced Snape again, "I'm going to ask Harry and Hagrid to stay. Is that all right with you? Do you understand why?"

"I want Hagrid," Snape replied, his voice younger, a voice from his past. "Hagrid knows what it's like. Potter… can read me. You need him."

"Do you need him?"

There was a flicker, a heartbeat… "I think so." The admission elicited a tiny smile from the healer.

Hagrid eased himself into a chair near Snape as Harry described the memories and the image of the bubbles to Pennywhistle, who nodded sagely and turned to Snape.

"This memory of the cave and the water," she asked, "where is it now?"

Snape wrinkled his brow in concentration. "Floating around," he said.

"Is it in a compartment, behind a door, or is it just out in the open, floating?"

"Just floating. It isn't locked anywhere."

"Do you have to look at it, or can you ignore it? The other memories, too."

"I don't have to look at them now. When they came up, I did. Now they're just there. There are others, though. They want to come up."

"Are you trying to hold them down?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"When they come out too fast, they explode."

"They sure do," said Hagrid. "It ain't a pretty sight."

"I think we've all seen versions of it," Pennywhistle reminded him. "This isn't news. Severus, do you have any idea what touched this off? I presume the morning was rather normal. What caused the memories to surface?"

"I'm not sure. I was talking to Potter and… and I remembered reading a letter. It was sad."

"Did you write the letter or receive it?"

"Neither. It was for someone else."

"Was the letter sad, or were you sad when you read it?"

"It made me sad. It reminded me of… something I'd lost."

"Did it have anything to do with Harry?"

"A little. I mean, the letter did, not the sadness."

"Madam Pennywhistle," said Harry, "he was also talking about a little girl. A little girl who needs a broomstick. I think he means Professor Clearwater's daughter. I've never seen her, but I'm pretty sure she's a muggle like her mother."

"No," said Snape suddenly, and his voice was focused and more energetic. "No, I think she may be a witch. She's young yet, of course, but there've been signs."

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Madam Pennywhistle, the person who wrote the letter we were talking about was also a muggle-born witch."

"Really?" said Pennywhistle. "So there is definitely an emotional connection."

"I am not getting emotional!" This time the voice was unmistakably Snape.

"Call it an affective connection, then. The terminology doesn't matter. Something from the past touching something from the present, Harry as the catalyst… It makes sense. Now if we can get it to surface gradually… nothing explosive or violent."

"Madam Pennywhistle," said Snape, now sounding almost frightened. "I don't want this to happen."

"It's scary to lose control," said Pennywhistle. "Believe me, I understand. We're going to try to control it as much as we can. Think of it as relieving pressure. Every thought that escapes relieves some of the pressure. Once outside, it won't bother you. Here, drink your tea. Try to relax. One at a time." Pennywhistle sipped her own tea. "Hagrid, this a fascinating home you have here. Pray tell, what is that object on the wall? Next to the fireplace?"

"That there's sorta like calipers for measuring the size hole ya need to transplant a panga tree into. Not that we got no panga trees here -– wrong climate. But it's got a distinctive look to it, don't it? Professor Sprout brought it back for me from Borneo."

As Pennywhistle and Hagrid discussed the hut's adornments, Snape waited, half listening, part of him striving to push the bubbles back into the magma, part ready to let one bubble, please no more than one, escape to ease the pressure that was making his head throb. When it came, it was irresistible, thrusting up from some deep sealed place like an exploding bomb… _Snivellus!_ and it was OWL exams again, and he lay helpless on the grass while his enemies gloated…

Edging forward, Harry took Snape's head and made contact. When Snape struggled to pull away, Harry cried, "It's all right, I already know this one! It isn't new!" But it was new, for this wasn't an impartial pensieve memory, it was Snape's personal memory, and Harry could feel the shame and anger, then the fear as the teenage Snape drowned in soapsuds while above him the others chatted calmly. This time Harry saw the end, too, when Bella came charging to the aid of her house mate, and McGonagall broke up the impending battle, then the wild, animal fury as Snape launched himself at James and the two rolled on the lawn – punching, gouging, kicking, tearing – the student body of Hogwarts howling in excitement around them, and Hagrid finally putting an end to it all…

Harry relaxed his hold, himself breathing hard now, and in that moment of freedom, Snape jumped to his feet, grabbed hold of the heavy table, and upended it, sending Harry diving for safety. Hagrid flung his arms around Snape to restrain him, and Pennywhistle ran to Harry's side.

"Are you all right?" Pennywhistle demanded, and when assured that he was asked, "What brought that on?"

"It was an incident at the end of his fifth year when two other boys teased him and humiliated him in front of practically the whole school. I'd seen part of it before. I hadn't realized it ended in a fight."

"And a darn good fight it was, too," said Hagrid with considerable appreciation as he wrestled with the still-struggling Snape. "It were that fight made Professor Dumbledore see how much physical strength and endurance he had. Sort of a promise for the future."

"So there's more trauma here than just the war against Voldemort," observed Pennywhistle. "That's valuable to know. Harry, do you know which boys were tormenting him?"

Harry hung his head. "One of them was my father."

"Do you resemble your father."

"I look just like him."

Pennywhistle folded her arms across her chest, then raised her right hand to her chin. "And the muggle-born witch of the letter…?"

"Was my mother."

"There!" exclaimed Pennywhistle. "Now I'm finally beginning to truly understand. The stress of the years hiding his genuine self in the fight against Voldemort, the pain of survivor guilt, they almost explained the intensity of his reactions, but this added affective level fills in some of the missing pieces. No wonder he's imploding. You go sit in a corner over there, a bit out of sight."

Going over to Hagrid and Snape, Pennywhistle said gently, "It's over now. The memory is out and floating free, and you don't have to look at it. Here, sit down again. Take deep breaths. Let them out slowly. I'd say you just released considerable adrenaline into your system. We need to let it dissipate. Look at the place where the bubbles are coming up. Is some of the pressure gone?"

Snape looked. "It is better," he said. "It doesn't hurt as much. At least not for the moment."

"Good." Pennywhistle sat at the table that Hagrid had righted. "Now I didn't see this memory. I don't know the details. I just know it was about teasing, and it was painful to relive. I'm not asking you to relive it, not yet. But I do need to know – did things like this happen often?"

"Often? Like that?" Snape thought for a while, and in his corner Harry waited anxiously for the reply. "No, not often. Not like that. Usually it was more balanced, more like an extended duel. Give and take on both sides. That one was unusual."

In the corner of the hut, Harry breath a slow, quiet sigh of relief. Maybe his father hadn't been quite such a total jerk as he'd feared.

Harry left Hagrid's hut for a short while to go up to the castle where lunch was well under way. He had to explain to Ginny and the other Weasleys where he was and, in a very vague way, what he was doing.

Back in the hut, the afternoon wore on, and in many ways it was infinitely more trying for Harry than it was for Snape. Snape, after all, had seen the images before, had lived through the experiences. For him they were known quantities. For Harry, they were all new.

Some were welcome. Harry got to see his mother sitting at her desk at school and playing in the school yard. There was even the image of her talking and laughing with a nine-year-old Snape under a tree by a river that Harry recognized as running near the cottage where Snape had grown up. They certainly seemed like friends.

The worst image was of the evening Voldemort returned, when Snape spent hour after terrifying hour having his thoughts ripped from his mind through an evil combination of torture and legilimency, yet managed to feed his Dark Lord a carefully orchestrated series of images of discord and blood prejudice at Hogwarts until Voldemort pronounced him a loyal servant and lifted the already imposed sentence of death, unknowingly welcoming a spy back into his service.

"I had no idea," Harry whispered, shaken to the core by what he'd witnessed. Unnoticed by either of them, Hagrid and Pennywhistle observed the interaction in silence from a corner of the hut. "And to think they made you spend all that time with Macnair last June."

"You weren't supposed to have any idea," Snape said, and then suddenly it was Snape comforting Harry… "We knew it was going to happen. Every Death Eater in Britain knew he was getting stronger, coming back. Dumbledore and I spent months preparing the different scenarios. Do you remember what he said to me that night, Harry? If you are prepared? I was prepared. You have no idea how much I wanted to destroy Riddle. It would have carried me through anything."

"You called him Riddle."

"It's what Dumbledore and I called him in private."

"So you know about his past."

"Not all of it. That privilege was reserved for you."

"It always seemed odd that he had such a common name. Like mine. Tom and Harry."

"That's not the half of it," said Snape. Something curiously close to a smile played about his mouth.

Harry thought for a moment. "At the trial, they gave your full name as Richard Severus Snape."

"Richard Prince was my grandfather. I was named partly for him."

"So that really does make us Tom, Dick, and Harry."

"You have no idea how gleeful Dumbledore was when he realized that. He would not stop chortling for a full twenty minutes."

Harry giggled. "At least I'm the Harry," he said mischievously. "You're the…"

"Shut up!" Snape snapped, and tossed one of Hagrid's pillows at the impudent boy.

The exorcising of the horrific images of Voldemort's return and Snape's ordeal seemed to be some sort of watershed. From that moment the pressure inside Snape's head relaxed, and for what remained of the afternoon, no more images bubbled to the surface. Pennywhistle returned to St. Mungo's just before dinner, after making everyone promise to call her at once if any of Snape's symptoms recurred before the next morning.

Snape, Harry, and Hagrid walked up the hill to the castle together. To all appearances they had just spent a perfectly ordinary Saturday afternoon. The only one Snape had to reassure was McGonagall. Harry joined the Weasleys and quietly informed them that everything seemed fine, at least for the moment. Since the Weasleys had never been told the full nature of the problem, they had no trouble accepting Harry's evaluation of the situation.

Snape, too, was pleased to see that the Weasleys had decided to stay at Hogwarts for dinner, to spend more time with Ginny. From his quick exchange with McGonagall, he went over and greeted Arthur and Molly – with a slightly more casual nod and hello to their children – and asked if he might join them for a moment.

The prospect of entertaining the former head of Slytherin house at the Gryffindor table was unusual, but not entirely without precedent in the thousand years of Hogwarts's history, and so Bill eased over a bit closer to George to make room for Snape to sit opposite his parents.

"What can we do for you, Severus?" said Molly.

"Forgive me, but I'm consulting you as experts in a certain field. You have probably the largest family I have ever known, and I have a question about children."

The calm, attentive expression on Arthur Weasley's face didn't change in the slightest, though Molly's mouth twitched a little and next to Snape Bill's eyes grew wide.

"What exactly did you want to know," Molly asked gently.

"Is it normal for a small child to have temper tantrums, what causes them, and how do you deal with them?"

"My, that's quite a bit for one evening." Molly's light tone didn't elicit any similar response from Snape, and she immediately became more serious and analytical. "All children have them. It starts before they're two and can continue for two or more years, though with most it's not that long. It's so hard being two, you see. They have all these powerful desires and emotions, and they don't know how to deal with them. It must be quite scary…"

"You mean they're not using it as a manipulative tool?"

"Later maybe, if their parents let them get their way when they're being naughty. But mostly it's being frustrated, or tired, or hungry, and not having a sense of time, or sequence, or consequences. If a ten-year-old wants something and you tell him not until after dinner, he can estimate the wait and make future plans. But to a two-year-old, 'after dinner' is an immeasurable eternity away. And their feelings are so strong… They need to be taught how to work their way through it."

"How do you teach them that?"

"Mostly by example and simple reasoning. I suppose the most important thing is never abandon them to work it out alone. They don't know how to work it out alone. Charlie now, he used to get stiff all over, trembling with frustration, and it was like he was having fits. I'd sit myself near him with some needlework and just talk, letting him know I was near if he needed me, and using my voice to calm him down. Percy, on the other hand, liked to be touched. A hand at the back of the neck, as if the contact helped all that energy dissipate. Ron was more physical, and I let him hit the furniture with soft toys that wouldn't do any damage."

Snape and Molly talked for several minutes, by which time Snape had begun to grasp what was happening in the two- and three-year-old psyche. His wasn't a profound understanding, but it pointed him in the right direction. He marveled that Molly had had the patience to put up with not just one but seven tantrum-throwing offspring – two of them at the same time.

The rest of dinner Snape spent at the high table with the other professors. Clearwater reported that Jane was doing quite well and was cheerfully pretending to fly with a quite ordinary broom. Snape started to wonder if getting the little girl a real broomstick was even a good idea at that moment.

xxxxxxxxxx


	13. Chapter 13

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 13**

Later that night, as Snape lay restless and worried, unable to sleep, the idea of occlumency as a way to control emotions flitted through his brain, and he found himself contemplating the vision of himself teaching occlumency to the little girl. It was not an unpleasant image, and Snape was on the verge of accepting the idea as an actual inspiration when it shifted and became an image of himself upending furniture and shattering glass vessels against the walls. He sat bold upright in bed.

_How can I teach her to control her feelings when I can't control my own?_ Then Molly Weasley's face and voice came to mind. _Control. Did she ever talk about controlling the feelings? She talked about dealing with them and working them out._ He forced himself to look back on his life, searching for some evidence that he'd learned how to work out or deal with anything emotional. Not rationalize it, but deal with it. Even Dumbledore's lessons, back all those years ago, had been about working with the occlumency, not working with the feelings.

_I deal with things by locking them into cages, like wild tigers. Tigers don't like being caged. It makes them worse when they break out._

In the recesses of his brain, Snape could feel the bubbles forming again, tigers clawing at the bars, volcanic gasses building to an explosion. Molly's voice came to him – 'Never abandon them to work it out alone…' He didn't want to be alone.

Throwing on a dressing gown and slippers, Snape left his rooms and hurried downstairs. Fortunately, a light was still on in Hagrid's hut.

"This ain't like you," Hagrid said as he made tea, "seeking out what some might call assistance. I ain't complaining, mind you, but what happened?"

"I 'got religion,'" said Snape. He was jumpy and irritable, waiting for the first bubble to burst inside his head.

"Fine. Don't tell me. It ain't like I've gone outta my way to be helpful from time t' time."

"I'm sorry, Hagrid. I shouldn't talk to you like that. All my life, it seems, you've been there to cover my back and pick up the pieces." Snape took the proffered cup of tea and sipped it absent-mindedly. "What happened was getting caught in that cave back in June and facing dying, really dying…

Hagrid waited. What needed to come would come without his prodding.

"You know," Snape said with a deep breath, "I was grateful that someone else was dying with me." He stopped and glanced up at Hagrid. "That didn't come out right. I didn't want anyone else to die. It's just… I didn't have to face it alone. There was another human being there – Harry was there – a warm body, a voice to listen to. Someone who knew my name and might actually prefer my living to my dying. It was something to cling to. And that wasn't all."

Hagrid, about to comment, closed his mouth in silence.

"I asked Molly Weasley about the little girl's tantrum, and she said it's because toddlers have these powerful emotions, but they haven't learned to deal with them, to work them out, and you have to be there with them to show them what to do, and it came to me that I've never learned that either, just how to lock them down, and maybe I need someone to be there with me and show me what to do… Hagrid, does that make sense?"

"Ya sound just like ya did that first time ya ever come to me with a question about people. D' ya remember? – Hagrid, ya asked me, why do ya feel bad when yer friend has another friend? – Just like that, like you was a kid again."

"I was jealous of Lu… of Remus. I was afraid if she talked to him, I'd lose her. In a way, I was right." Snape clutched his head suddenly. The bubble was rising. It was irresistible, and it was rising…

_He was strolling with Dumbledore in the deserted castle grounds by twilight. "What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?" he asked. "You trust him… you do not trust me."_

"_It is not a question of trust. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do… Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. It is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."_

_Yet you confide more in a boy… that boy… you trust him… him, not me… never me…_

"Y' know," said Hagrid after a few minutes, "I can't read ya like Harry can. I don't know what that memory was. But I'm pretty sure Madam Pennywhistle, she'd like to know. D' ya think we might jot it down for her?"

Snape cradled his aching head in his hands. "I was talking to Dumbledore," he said. "I was jealous of Potter. Dumbledore was always talking to Potter that year. He used to talk to me more. I was… I was afraid of being shut out… left out… left alone…"

"We was just talking about being jealous. Ya was jealous of James Potter, wasn't ya? Taking yer girl like that."

"My girl? You know I didn't think of Lily like that!"

"How did ya 'think of her?"

"She was… my friend. I could talk to her… She could talk to me… It was…"

"What did she ever tell ya about her life? Her problems?"

Snape was silent. "She had a good life," he said after a few moments. "She didn't have any problems."

"None that she told ya about."

"That's not fair, Hagrid," said Snape quietly. "If she'd told me, I'd have listened. I couldn't force her to tell me things."

"Did she ever talk about herself?"

"All the time. She talked about school, and her fights with Petunia, and the things she was going to do during the summer with her parents, and she asked about the wizarding world, and complained about not doing real magic, and in Hogwarts she talked about her dorm mates and…"

"Did she tell ya how she felt about James Potter?"

"Yes," Snape said, "she did. The technical term she used was toerag. On several occasions."

"Don't seem too likely to me," Hagrid countered, "that a young lady of taste would marry someone she considered a toerag. Did she ever tell ya why she changed her mind?'

"No. But by then we'd drifted apart in any case and weren't sharing confidences the way we once had."

"This drifting apart… did it have a cause?"

Snape shrugged. "It did at the time. By the time we found out who was really to blame, it was too late. She'd already started talking and acting like a Gryffindor instead of like a friend."

"Now ya got me curious, lad. How does a Gryffindor talk and act?"

"Like the sole possessor of revealed truth. They pretend to ask questions, but before you can get two words in, they've already supplied the answers, and they pay no attention to what you might have said. Their answer is the only one they consider valid. It's a very useful thing for a Gryffindor, never having to pay attention to anyone else's view of things. That way they don't strain their brains too much."

"I see," said Hagrid, and Snape was rather relieved that Hagrid didn't point out that he'd been in Gryffindor house. The half-giant continued blandly, "Ya ever have any other Gryffindors talk t' ya like that?"

"Yes. Dumbledore."

"I see we got some unresolved issues here."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

Hagrid screwed up his mouth. "Did ya love her? And don't ask me t' define love. That's one of yer tricks ya use to get out of answering a question."

"I don't know." Snape stared down at his hands where they fidgeted on the table. "I needed her. He had so many friends. I had one. He didn't have to drive a wedge between us."

"What about yer dorm mates?"

"You can't shut yourself off from everybody. You can't refuse to speak to your own house mates."

Hagrid frowned. "That weren't what I was asking."

"That's what she was asking. Cut myself off from all other people, shun the common room and my dorm mates, make myself totally dependent on her, and maybe she would condescend to bestow her company on me. From time to time."

"That's why ya drifted apart."

"It was one of several things." Snape looked around Hagrid's hut. Far from comforted, he now felt bitter and resentful. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, and he began to lock it away. Then he thought of Jane Clearwater. Looking across the table at Hagrid, Snape admitted, "I'm angry. I'm angry, Hagrid, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

"Don't ya want t' be angry? Ya got a lot t' be angry about. You got probably more reasons t' be angry than any other human being I know."

"I don't want to be angry at her."

"'Cause y're supposed t' love her? Anger ain't the opposite of love. Lad, the only people ya never get angry at are the people ya don't care about. Maybe ya should just let yerself be angry."

Snape did let himself be angry. He rose and paced around the room, picking things up and putting them down, hitting fist into palm in frustration, and gradually he let himself talk. He told Hagrid about the fight over the Levicorpus spell, and learning later about James's invisibility cloak, about her demands on his loyalty and her withdrawal of her support that left him more dependent on the Slytherin students, not less. And he told of the brief, fleeting moments when they connected again, and it was almost like old times…

Snape didn't get back to his rooms in the castle until two in the morning. No more bubbles had surfaced, but his head was now full of too many thoughts and memories, thoughts that kept going round and round in a maddening dance that threatened to keep sleep away for the rest of the night. He wanted to lock it all away behind a door…

_I can't. I have to learn to deal with it. This is what normal people do – they have sleepless nights. Is Hagrid right? I'm angry because I cared. They were able to hurt me because I cared. Which is worse, to be hurt, or never to care?_

And suddenly it was morning, and Snape was waking up to sunlight coming through his window. He had fallen asleep after all.

Things went relatively smoothly for most of the next week. Pennywhistle came twice, and she and Snape began to form a more solid relationship, one that – Snape was starting to realize and even to accept – would most likely have to continue for several years if he was ever to be able to lead a relatively normal life. On her second visit, Snape recounted to Pennywhistle his conversation with Hagrid about Lily.

"Good for her!" was Pennywhistle's response.

"Good that she used and manipulated me?" Snape was astounded that the healer gave him so little sympathy.

"Good that she was no plaster saint, but a flesh and blood person who was able to live her own life and take care of her own needs. Good that you're able to recognize it, even resent it a little. It isn't healthy to put people on pedestals."

"But I needed her!"

"Yes, you did. And she was there for you for an important couple of years. But she wasn't created for the sole purpose of being a crutch for you. She had her own needs and her own life to live, and I'm pleased she didn't sacrifice herself as a martyr to your problems."

Snape turned his back on the healer and walked over to the window where he stood staring down at the lake. She rose from the sofa and came to stand beside him. Her voice was gentle.

"Severus, you were cursed from birth with a disability that placed a barrier between you and the normal world of human emotions and relationships. That was a terrible burden to bear, and I'm not trying to minimize it. The world has treated you unfairly from the moment you were born. Added to that, you had an abusive family, and you were thrust right into the middle of the worst conflict the wizarding world has ever known. That you weren't crushed by it all is a tribute to your intelligence and strength. I might go so far as to say that the rest of us are fortunate that your situation was so difficult, because what blighted your life turned out to be a gift to us all and led directly to Voldemort's destruction. You're right. It isn't fair. The world seldom is. But you can't use that as an excuse for being unfair to someone else. I know you hate me right now. That's all right. You go ahead and hate me; I can take it. I'm going to sit on that sofa and wait, and when you want to talk, we'll talk."

It only took a half hour before Snape was back, challenging Pennywhistle, debating and arguing, and even yelling and screaming a little. At the end of the session, he felt better. Not wonderful, of course. Just better.

By the following week, Pennywhistle's visits had become a routine, which meant they were beginning to feel normal. Snape even found himself looking forward to seeing the healer again.

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_Friday, October 9, 1998 (3 days before the last quarter)_

By the beginning of October, Snape had also managed to make talking to Jane Clearwater a routine. The children now played on a daily basis in the little playground, and Snape came to sit and watch them at least once a day for a few minutes. He still had no solid evidence of any magical abilities, but at least the little girl accepted his presence.

"This," Jane solemnly informed Snape from her position in the sandbox one Friday morning shortly before lunch, "is a pail. And this is a shovel. Robbie's pail is yellow, but mine is blue. You have to put sand in it like this. And then you turn it over. See? It's like the pail, just sand. Now I have to make another one. It's a house."

"Jane, may I ask you something?" Snape said.

"I have to make more sand walls. This is my house."

Taking that for a yes, Snape continued. "Just for pretend, Jane, how would you feel if you couldn't play in the sandbox anymore? Would you be happy, or sad?"

"You're silly."

"Why am I silly, Jane?"

"I can't be happy if I can't play. That's silly."

"Does your mommy play in the sandbox with you?"

Jane giggled. "Mommies don't play in sandboxes. They have other games."

"What if you told her she couldn't play those games? Would she be happy or sad?" Jane didn't answer, so Snape continued. "Some teachers are going out tonight for one of those games, but if Robbie gets sick, your mommy can't go, and she'll be sad. Do you think Robbie's going to get sick tonight?"

Jane looked over at Winky and Robbie, who were playing pat-a-cake on the other side of the playground. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe sometimes he doesn't get sick."

In the Great Hall at lunch, Snape again invited the three muggle teachers to dinner and a movie that evening.

Shortly before six o'clock, Snape, Davis, and Bradford were in the entrance hall, and at precisely six Professor Clearwater came down the stairs, dressed to go out for the evening, a coat over her arm.

"How's Robert?" Snape asked as Bradford gallantly held the coat for Clearwater.

"Amazingly well," Clearwater smiled. "He's playing quite happily with Jane. Winky's pleased as punch."

"I'm glad to hear it. May this be the first of many excursions."

The movie came first. At Bradford's suggestion, they went to see the latest 'Jackie Chan' film because, as Bradford put it, 'how can you not know about Jackie Chan?' It was lighthearted and fun, though Snape appreciated most the martial arts work, especially the clips at the end that showed how they'd filmed several of the stunts and how difficult they were. At dinner they reviewed their favorite parts with much laughter from the three muggles, and by the end of the evening they were on a first name basis, the title 'Professor' having been left by the wayside.

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_Monday, October 12, 1998 (the last quarter)_

The very next Monday was the beginning of the OWL and NEWT exams for the students who'd missed them the previous June. It was a bit of a holiday for everyone except the fifth years, since the staff were all needed to proctor the exams. Suddenly the lake, the lawn, the gardens, were full of playing or lounging students who thought it great that someone else had to be working while they were having fun.

Professor Marchbanks was naturally with the other Examiners, though she also planned to spend a large part of the week with Snape and the new teachers reviewing their class frameworks, standards, schedules, lesson plans, and what, so far, had been put into place.

"I have a little surprise for you," Bradford told Snape when the group met in the Muggle Studies office during lunch on the first day of exams. He handed Snape a flat rectangular device with a number pad and several arcane keys on it.

"This is a calculator," Snape said.

"I know," replied Bradford. "Try it."

"Electronic devices don't work on the grounds of Hogwarts," Snape insisted.

"Just try it."

With considerable skepticism, Snape punched the number seven, the addition sign, the number eight, and the equals sign. The calculator told him the answer was fifteen. He stared at it as if it were the eighth wonder of the world. "How did it do that?" he whispered.

"We've been trying to figure out what effect the magic has on the transmission of electrical current," Davis explained. "We're still not exactly sure, but it definitely inhibits transmission through wires and has a damaging effect on traditional batteries. But not these." She pointed to a row of tiny black squares at the top of the calculator.

"What are they?" Marchbanks asked, fascinated.

"Solar cells," Bradford explained. "Solar cells and microchips. We couldn't run the whole school on solar power because we couldn't wire the school; it wouldn't work. But we could bring in quite a bit of equipment."

Snape pounced on the idea like a cat on a mouse. Before the day was over, Bradford's office was littered with catalogs brimming over with the latest in scientific equipment. Marchbanks was beginning to back away in some consternation.

"This is going to be terribly expensive," she reminded him.

"Not as much as you think," Snape told her, practically vibrating with excitement. "There's already a laboratory. When Voldemort came back, he wanted the very latest in a potions lab and I managed to con him into… eh… persuade him to equip a fairly complete chemistry lab. It's in…" He tried to say the name, but the residue of the old Fidelius charm still blocked it. "Don't worry," Snape continued, "I can get it."

In the end, it wasn't Snape but the house-elves who transported the laboratory equipment from Birmingham to Hogwarts. They couldn't use all of it, not yet, since Birmingham had, unlike Hogwarts, been able to take the electric wiring, but it was a tremendous start, and Marchbanks was so pleased at not having to lay out money – and more pleased that Voldemort was paying for it – that she promised to look over their wish list for the more expensive things.

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_Friday, October 23, 1998_

At the end of two weeks, the exams were finished, the school was back to normal, Snape had no more classes, and that Friday he again invited the three muggle teachers to London. This time Bradford and Davis excused themselves, Bradford with a wink, and Davis with a sly smile – both equally mystifying to Snape – and so he and Clearwater found themselves deciding what to do with their evening out together.

They decided on a production of "Richard III," which meant dinner first, during which Clearwater confessed that she already knew the play would upset her.

"It's sad to think that someone who was probably a very decent person would be so maligned after his death. Half the world thinks poor Richard was a monster, and most of that's because of Shakespeare's play."

"Didn't he go around killing kings and babies?"

"You see? You believe the Shakespeare. But Shakespeare does it by mixing up dates and putting people in the wrong place. In "Henry VI" Shakespeare has the young Richard fighting in a battle when the real Richard was only about ten years old. Watch what happens in Act I of this play."

"What happens in Act I?" Snape had just noticed that Clearwater's hair wasn't brown, but a rich honey color, and that her eyes weren't blue like her daughter's, but gray. And right now they were sparkling in defense of a king who'd been dead for more than five hundred years.

"It starts with Richard getting his brother George arrested for treason. Then he meets a funeral procession for the recently murdered Henry VI, and charms the dead king's widowed daughter-in-law Anne into considering him for her next husband. In reality, Henry VI died in 1471, Richard married Anne in 1472, and George wasn't arrested for treason until 1478. Richard wasn't even close to London when that happened. He and Anne were living quite happily in Yorkshire."

"I thought getting rid of George was part of his plot to become king when Edward died."

"Why would he think Edward was about to die? Edward was only thirty-six when George was executed. Richard was twenty-five. Nobody had the slightest idea that Edward would die just five years later, and when he did, Richard was up in Wensleydale, in Yorkshire."

"Wensleydale?" Snape said, an image of his great-grandfather surfacing in his mind, and his grandmother's voice telling him that the Snapes were from the West Riding, while the Princes came to Lancashire from Yorkshire after being on the losing side in a dynastic war. _The War of the Roses?_ "Richard III lived in Wensleydale?"

"Middleham Castle." Clearwater tilted her head to one side. "You're joking with me, aren't you? You know that the supporters of Richard III used Snape Castle as one of their meeting places after he was killed at Bosworth."

"I didn't even know there was a Snape Castle. I knew there was a village, but only because my grandmother told me. I've never been there."

"It belonged to the Barons Latimer, part of the Neville family. They and their friends were still giving the Tudors problems well into the reign of Henry VIII. You have heard of Henry VIII?"

"Oddly enough," said Snape wryly, "I have. That was rather late, wasn't it? I mean, it was Henry's father who defeated Richard."

"Good! There are some wizards who know some history after all. I was beginning to wonder. Now, let's use you as an example. What would have happened if you'd died in the Battle of Hogwarts and no one ever learned all those things that came out in your trial? What would the general opinion of you have been? They'd all have been certain that you were a Death Eater and a murderer…"

"I've never murdered anyone."

"I've heard that there were some who believed that all Death Eaters were murderers."

"There are some people who are stupid. They let their prejudices and preconceptions get in the way of their facts. Their opinions are about as valid as the Ptolemaic universe. Interesting for an understanding of the archaic mind, but useless for twentieth century astronomy."

"Richard was like you, except he died, and his enemies wrote the history books. It strengthened Henry's position if people believed Richard was evil. You got to have a trial where the truth came out. Richard didn't."

"All right, O Expert of the Period. What was Richard III really like?"

Clearwater's face softened as she thought. "The opposite of his brother. Edward was handsome, athletic – at least when he was young – outgoing and sociable. Everybody loved him, even if he didn't deserve it. Richard was quiet, analytical, slow to make friends… One of the problems at the end was that few knew him well enough to stand up for his reputation. Only those close enough to him to have seen what he was really doing."

"I think I'm beginning to like this Richard III," said Snape with a slight smile.

"You just watch the play closely, and if you have questions, I'll answer them." Clearwater eyed Snape shrewdly. "And I think we need to go to Wensleydale this weekend."

Snape did have questions after the play, and they talked about them briefly as they first looked for a quiet spot to apparate, and then as they walked up Hogwarts hill.

"But why would he mention strawberries at a moment like that? It seemed so odd."

"That comes from an old source – many people think it was an eyewitness account. It says that 'strawberries' was a signal."

"Then why would he say it to one of his victims…?" The old lure of the murder mystery was beginning to draw Snape into the even more alluring real-life mystery.

And, of course, the matter of the ghosts. "Was that from an old source, too? That he saw the ghosts of the dead before the battle at Bosworth?"

Clearwater nodded. "There's a lot of talk about his state of mind just before he died. A lot of Ricardians think that was just Tudor propaganda."

"Not necessarily," said Snape quietly. "He lived his whole life during a time of war. He must have lost a lot of family and friends. Seeing the ghosts doesn't mean you killed the people."

"That's an interesting way of looking at it." Clearwater took a deep breath. "Is that what she talks to you about? The doctor who comes up from London every week?"

"Is it that obvious that I'm seeing a psychiatrist?"

"Not really. She just has that medical 'air' about her."

Snape walked Clearwater to her rooms and said good night at the door. They had already arranged to go to Yorkshire the next day.

At midmorning Snape and Clearwater met in the entrance hall. "How did Jane and Robert take it?" Snape asked on the way down the hill.

"They're used to me being gone during the day. During the day they have lots of things to do. It's in the evening that they don't want me to go."

Middleham Castle stood on a rise overlooking the surrounding countryside. Like many old fortresses, it had fallen to ruin as soon as its caretakers stopped fixing the roofs. The outer walls and most of the inner ones still stood, but floors and thus all real sense of human habitation were gone. The inner ward was neat and well cared for, and the staff passionate in their devotion to the castle's most famous resident. It was a shrine to the much misunderstood Richard.

"You have to see this," Clearwater said, leading Snape to stairs, part new wood and part old stone, that led up to the top of one of the remaining towers. "No one who could look at this every day could possibly want to live in London."

Snape followed her up, and stepped onto the viewing area. Below and around him was rolling hill and moor country, with the vast expanse of the sky overhead. It was achingly like the area where he'd been raised. He walked over to Clearwater, and as he reached her, she turned, looking up at him, almost touching.

There was a pause, a heartbeat in which neither spoke, and then, without really thinking about it, just because everyone was telling him he wasn't supposed to lock his feelings away, he was supposed to deal with them, and because at the time it seemed the logical thing to do, Snape kissed her.

It was a short, delicate kiss, rather like one a parent might give a sleeping child, and as Snape moved back, he considered apologizing for being presumptuous. Clearwater, however, looked so completely comfortable with the situation that Snape decided apologizing would be silly. Instead, he kissed her again, a kiss that lasted a second or two longer.

That was all, but suddenly everything had changed. As they turned to marvel at the beautiful view, it now seemed natural that she would stand in the curve of his arm, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, or that going back down the stairs, he should go first, holding her hand to be sure her descent was safe. Now she laid her fingertips on his arm to direct his attention to the round stones set along the rear wall that had been used for milling flour, and when they commented on a statue, they bent their heads close and spoke in low, private voices.

Lunch was under a tree on the edge of a small area of pasture land. He told her about the moors of eastern Lancashire and admitted that his first name was also Richard, but that his name in the family had been Russ. She talked of growing up on the rocky coast of Yorkshire's East Riding and of North Sea storms, and confessed to being Peggy.

After lunch, they went to Snape Castle. This was more of a manor house than a castle, its fanciful crenellated towers and turrets having been added for show in the 16th century. It was also in some disrepair, though parts were still not only habitable, but lived in, and plans were being made to refurbish it for the tourist trade. Snape and Clearwater played a little game about fixing up the dining and ball rooms for entertaining, and putting a new library in the east wing. Snape was fascinated by the elaborate woodwork and carvings in the chapel, and Clearwater explained what everything was and how it was used.

By three o'clock they were finished and ready to return to Hogwarts. They apparated to the outskirts of Hogsmeade where they exchanged a third, quick kiss, then walked properly and sedately to the Hogwarts gate.

Harry Potter was walking down the hill from the castle, an oddly shaped package in his hands.

"There you are!" Harry called as he spied the two of them entering the gate. "I was looking for you, but they said you went out. Good afternoon, Professor Clearwater." As they approached each other, Harry glanced from Snape to Clearwater, speculation in his eyes, but made no comment on his thoughts.

"Well now you've found me," said Snape. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to thank you. Someone was working extra hard at the Board of Examiners, and the results for the NEWTs are already out. I passed all my exams and I'm heading for London to submit a application to the Auror Department. I probably couldn't have done it without your classes so… well… thank you."

"You're welcome," said Snape.

"Oh," Harry added. "And I got you this. You mentioned it a few weeks ago. I was in Diagon Alley this morning and saw it. I thought I'd, you know, get it for you."

"For me?" said Snape. The package was about three feet long and rounded at one end. It might have been a broomstick, except it was too short.

"Probably not," Harry said with a grin. "Though right at this moment I have a pretty good idea who it could be for. A little girl, maybe? Or a little boy?"

"Are you talking about Jane and Robert?" Clearwater asked.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Professor Snape was asking about a child's broomstick. So, here it is."

Snape took the package that was proffered to him. "Thank you very much, Harry," he said. "It was thoughtful of you. I appreciate it."

"Well, that's that, then," said Harry. "Off to London now."

"Good luck with the auror position," Snape said.

"Thanks." The two shook hands, then Harry continued out the gate and disapparated as soon as he was off the grounds.

"A broomstick for Jane?" Clearwater said, staring at the package in Snape's hands. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I don't think children's brooms will go very far off the ground," Snape assured her. "And you will have Winky to keep an eye on her and be sure she doesn't get hurt."

"But can she use one?"

"I don't know. If she's just a non-magical muggle, probably not. In that case, she could just pretend with it – a toy broom. But I think she's like her cousin Penelope. I think maybe she'll be able to fly."

"She'll be in the playground with Winky and Robbie. I suppose now is as good a time as any."

They went around the hill and up from the garden to the playground where Robbie was swinging and Jane playing in the sand. Jane had made quite an elaborate sand castle with her little pail and shovel. Either she was using magic, or Winky had lent a hand. Clearwater called to her.

"Jane, we have something for you!"

It took Jane no time at all to rip the paper from the shiny new broom and then prance around the playground with it, crowing in delight. Snape took the opportunity to exchange a few words with Winky, who understood the situation perfectly.

"Professor Snape does not want Winky to help Janey fly?" the house-elf asked.

"Not yet. We want to see if she can do it herself. If she can, Winky will have her hands full keeping Janey from getting hurt. If she can't, maybe then Winky can help."

Within a few moments, Jane had mounted the broomstick and was galloping around the playground pretending to fly, just as she had with the ordinary broom. "Jane, why don't you try…" Clearwater began, but Snape stopped her.

"We'll see first what she can do on her own," he advised, and the two stood quietly to one side watching the little girl. It was a few moments before Snape even realized that they were holding hands.

After a bit, Jane began jumping instead of running, and then suddenly her feet were kicking off the ground, and the broom was about two feet in the air. Jane began shrieking, "Mommy! Mommy! Look at me, Mommy!" while Clearwater threw her arms around Snape and hugged him.

"She has it!" Clearwater cried, laughing and weeping at the same time. "She has the power. My baby's a witch."

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Teenagers are collectively blessed with certain unfailing instincts. The first and most compelling is for blood. Let a fight start on any part of a school's grounds, and within seconds there will be a yelling, cheering audience. The second is for romance, especially if it involves two people who prefer privacy. Although they themselves were still in a state of bemused wonder at what was happening, by supper time that day the entire school had it on good authority (whose was never made plain) that Snape and Clearwater were an item. Slytherin house, lacking its former Death Eater core and with strong memories of how their previous head had stood up for them, much more than Slughorn did, became especially protective.

"Anyone gives you a hard time," a seventh year named Harper told a mystified Snape on their way in to dinner, "and you let us know. We'll take care of it for you."

"Thank you," Snape replied, that seeming to be the correct response. He was still wondering what Harper could possibly be talking about when Professor Clearwater's entrance set off an almost silent wave of whispers and glances. This Snape did notice, which prompted him to look around the staff table. It, too, was permeated by an air of acute expectation.

The best defense is a good offense. As Clearwater approached, Snape rose and held her chair for her. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Look around you," he countered. "They already know. I'm not sure how, but they do."

She looked, and he was right. What was more, everyone seemed pleased, even happy about the turn of events. McGonagall raised a silent glass to them, which gesture Snape returned with the slightest of bows. "I suppose," Clearwater said, "that it does save us the bother of sneaking around."

"Sneaking…?" Snape started to protest, then realized she was teasing him. He sat down quickly, keenly aware that he was beginning to blush. "I hope you don't think…"

"That you're a lothario? Heavens no. I don't think I've ever met a man who was as instinctively proper as you are. Look, now I've embarrassed you." She stopped then because Bradford had entered the hall and was taking his customary seat next to Snape while Davis was settling in beside Clearwater.

"Who's a lothario, dear?" said Davis. "Not our Severus, surely. A model of decorum, our Severus. I trust and hope you two had a pleasant outing."

"Very pleasant, thank you," Snape said as Davis winked at him and Bradford prodded an elbow into his arm. "We thoroughly enjoyed… that is, we had quite a nice…" He stopped, stymied, while Bradford grinned widely.

Davis merely chuckled. "Don't even try, dear," she said. "Under the circumstances, there's nothing you could say that wouldn't sound vaguely obscene. A reminder to us all that in the field of human communication, context is everything."

Clearwater was laughing now, a crisp, infectious sound, and Bradford joined her. "You have to lighten up, Severus," he said. "There's just too much you don't want to miss."

"That may be true," Snape countered, "but I'd prefer not missing it in some place less conspicuous than a fishbowl."

After dinner the teachers met in the staff room to socialize over a few drinks. Snape, long since aware of the effect alcohol had on him, for the most part abstained. At the end of the evening, he was bold enough to walk Clearwater to her rooms, but turned down her invitation to come in for a cup of coffee. It wasn't that the children and Winky were there – it was that suddenly her reputation was of great importance to him.

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_Saturday, October 31, 1998 (3 days after the first quarter)_

The following Saturday was Halloween, and by long tradition also the first Hogsmeade excursion of the school year. Snape, having no chaperoning duties, took advantage of the quiet school to review the developing new curricula with McGonagall and the other heads of houses in a less confining atmosphere than the headmistress's office. They met over a late lunch in the Great Hall while three quarters of the school went off grounds, Clearwater and her children among them.

"It will be good for them to go into the village with the students," Clearwater told Snape. "They can look at the shops and see something besides stone walls and the lake. Did you know today was Jane's fourth birthday? She's really looking forward to this evening, as if it were her own special birthday party. I've told her she can get anything she wants at Honeydukes."

The afternoon passed quickly and quietly without the students on the grounds, and the curriculum committee was able to accomplish a lot. That was until a quarter past three, when Harper came rushing into the Great Hall.

"Professor!" he yelled at Snape. "You have to come! They've taken over Madam Puddifoot's and they're holding everyone for ransom. Professor Clearwater's inside with her children!"

In an instant, Snape, McGonagall, and the others were out of the Great Hall and rushing down the hill.

Well before the professors reached the gate into Hogsmeade, they could hear the explosive pop of wizards apparating into the area around the village. Word had apparently gotten out quickly, and someone had contacted the Ministry of Magic, for one of the arrivals was Gawain Robards, accompanied by a brand new auror-in-training, Harry Potter. They were already in front of Madam Puddifoot's talking with John Dawlish, who'd been on duty in Hogsmeade with the students when the incident occurred. Snape hadn't spoken much to the Dark Arts teacher, who never stayed in the evenings to socialize, but it was clear today that having an auror on staff could be useful in an emergency.

Robards spotted Snape immediately and moved to intercept him before he could approach Madam Puddifoot's. "You need to stay back," he said firmly. "This is auror business."

"Those are Hogwarts students in there," Snape insisted. "It's a school matter, too."

"Yes. Students, a professor, and two children. I've been filled in on the details. Look, Severus, they're not going anywhere. Dawlish has already made it impossible to apparate from the tea shop. Right now, they're not going to do anything stupid if they can't run. But if they see you, it could change everything."

"Who are they?"

"Older Death Eaters. As near as we can tell, there are three of them – Reginald Lestrange, Malcolm Avery, and Frederick Mulciber. They want a direct exchange, the release of their sons for the people in the shop. We're talking, and it's relatively calm. But since you're directly responsible for the sons' being in prison, if you put in an appearance it could get explosive."

"I want to help."

"You'll help by staying out of it. Minerva, get him out of here. I don't want them to see him."

McGonagall, Slughorn, Sprout, and Flitwick together managed to drag Snape away from Madam Puddifoot's and maneuver him into the Three Broomsticks. There they pushed him into a seat in a corner and barricaded him with a table and their own chairs. "You heard Gawain," McGonagall stated crisply. "You'll only make it worse. I know it's hard – you've been too used to doing things on your own – but this time you've got to accept that other people are in charge."

Hagrid came in and added his bulk to the barricade. "Harry says we got t' keep ya in here for the time being," he announced. "They got George and Ron coming up from London, and soon 's they get here we ought t' get some news."

"What have the Weasley's got that the aurors don't?" asked Sprout.

"Extendable ears. Robards recalled using 'em t' help Ginny and says the auror department's going t' start buying wizard wheezes."

Harry stuck his head through the door of the now crowded main room of the Three Broomsticks, but went first to Madam Rosmerta, who nodded and pointed upstairs. Then he came over to the table where the professors were sitting.

"Is there news?" McGonagall asked.

Harry didn't answer her directly. "Madam Rosmerta says we can use one of the parlors upstairs. I thought you might prefer that. It's kind of public down here."

As soon as Slughorn rose to go to the staircase, Snape made a move for the front door, but Hagrid grabbed his arm and steered him to the back of the public room and up the stairs to the parlor, Harry and McGonagall ahead of them and the others behind.

"You make sure," McGonagall told Flitwick, "that he can't get out of here without Gawain's permission." Flitwick nodded and proceeded to make the room secure.

"Sit down," Harry told Snape, who remained standing. "The news so far is good. Nobody's been hurt. They recognized Professor Clearwater immediately because they read about her and the other muggle professors in the _Prophet_, but they think she'll be useful to bargain with, so they're taking good care of her. The two children are sitting with the students. Everything's calm."

"Can't I go down there?" Snape asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

"Sorry. They don't trust you. To be honest, they don't trust me either. Robards says I have to get over my complex about saving people if I want to be a good auror."

"I thought aurors were supposed to save people."

"They are, but not the way I do it. I tend to ignore what everyone else is doing, rush in, and try to go it alone. That's why I mess things up half the time." Harry smiled ruefully. "Robards explained the whole problem to me in considerable detail. It was rather embarrassing, actually. It appears I have this reputation for… how did he put it… careless heroics and uncoordinated acts of badly planned daring, usually resulting in someone else getting hurt."

"That sounds about right," said Snape. He walked over to a window looking in the direction of Madam Puddifoot's, Flitwick's barrier keeping him from touching either the window or its curtains. "So now we wait."

"I have to go back," Harry said. "If there's any change, I'll let you know." Flitwick released the door for a moment, and Harry was gone.

Through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, the standoff continued. Robards was the personification of patience, listening to every rant and every demand with quiet sympathy, keeping the three Death Eaters informed of every shift and change so they wouldn't be taken by surprise and act out of panic, and calming the parents of the children who were being held captive, parents who were now occupying every spare room in Hogsmeade. Robards, in fact, seemed to be doing the work of six aurors in terms of negotiations and public relations, and Harry tagged along behind him in awe. Harry'd admired Moody for his passion and fire, but the businesslike Robards got more done while ruffling fewer feathers.

At six-thirty, Robards was standing across the street from Madam Puddifoot's going over the matter of catering. This was being done by the Hogwarts house-elves, who were unable to otherwise assist with the hostage situation because the Death Eaters had a house-elf with them, too. The street in front of the shop was empty, but on either side it was thronged with anxious parents, friends, and teachers.

"We're trying to keep it simple for you to control," Robards was saying, his voice raised so the men in the tea shop could hear him easily. "Sandwiches and fruit mean you don't have to worry about forks and knives. Or plates for that matter. We're assuming the shop has enough tea, milk, butter beer, and water for everyone. If there's something else you need, let us know."

"How do we know the food isn't poisoned or drugged?" came an answering voice from the shop, one that Harry now recognized as Malcolm Avery's.

"It's all together on the same platters, your food and the students'. Let them eat some of it first. If there's anything wrong with it, you'll find out."

"We'll do that," Avery called back. "Don't think we won't."

"We have a request. It's about the children – the students – you have inside."

"We're not letting any of them go."

"We're not asking you to." Robards took three steps into the street. It made him an easy target, but no one really thought at this point that the Death Eaters would be that reckless. "We have lots of parents coming into Hogsmeade. We've also compiled a list of students that aren't accounted for. We'd like to know that the children are all right. Could you let each child come to the window and say his or her name and a word to the parents?"

"You're not getting them out of here until we have our own children!"

"I'm not asking for that. We don't even have to see them as long as we can hear them. The parents will recognize the voices. You'll be in complete control. Parents who're sure their children are all right will be less likely to try something foolish."

"Give us a moment to confer."

The food arrived at that moment and was sent in to the Death Eaters' house elf. A few minutes later a very young voice called out from the front window, "Mum? Dad? It's Barry. What? Oh, sorry. I'm Barry Belby. I just want to tell my mum and dad that I'm fine except I'd really like to get out of here."

"That's right, Barry," a man called from the crowd. "Your mum and I are here waiting for you. You just do what they tell you to, and be good."

"I love you, Barry," the woman with him shouted.

Another student in the shop came forward to give her name and status while Barry's parents hugged each other and made their way to the rear of the crowd to let others take their place in front.

"It looks like it's defusing the tension a bit," Harry whispered to Robards.

"As long as all the missing students are there and well, it should," Robards replied. "My only worry is if we're missing someone."

They were interrupted suddenly by the appearance of Professor Sprout. "Harry," she said as she threaded her way over to where they were standing. "Healer Pennywhistle's here, and she says she needs you right away. Severus has had one of his 'episodes,' and she has to know what's surfacing."

"You'd better go," Robards told Harry. "You're needed a lot more there than you are here."

"What happened?" Harry asked Sprout as they pushed through the crowd. "I thought he was all right."

"He was, but then one of those memories forced its way up, and he just seemed to collapse. We got Pennywhistle in by floo, and she wants to know what he's remembering. She asked for you."

"I'm on it," Harry assured her, darting into the Three Broomsticks and taking the stairs to the upper floor two at a time.

The parlor was furnished with small tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. Snape was lying on one of the sofas, curled up on his side in a tight ball with his arms encircling his head. The only other people in the room were Pennywhistle and Hagrid.

"Something powerful came up," Pennywhistle told Harry the moment he entered. "It would help immensely if you could read it. He's covering his eyes right now, but Hagrid can help you."

Hagrid could and did. "Now, now, lad," he coaxed as he gently pried Snape's arms away from his head, "there ain't nothing t' be scared of. It's just me 'n Harry, and we already know all the secrets. Ya ain't gonna shock no one. I'd even wager a bit as I was in them things ya just saw. Now look at ya," – this as Snape buried his face in Hagrid's sleeve – "Y're just making it harder on yerself. Here's Harry all ready t' help, 'n you doing nothing but hiding."

Harry watched, fascinated, as Hagrid slipped an arm under Snape and turned him so that he was facing away from the back of the sofa. Snape whimpered and tried to hide his face again, but Hagrid would have none of it. Harry realized then, with a bit of a shock, that Hagrid was more than old enough to be Snape's father, and that Hagrid had probably cared for Snape as for a fosterling son from the moment the child Snape had arrived at Hogwarts. It was one of those rare moments when Harry fully comprehended the depths of his own ignorance. He waited with the patience of a Robards for Hagrid's signal to move in.

When it came, it came fast. Hagrid held Snape's head while Harry pried his eyes open, open for just a moment, and glimpsed what was hiding behind them. He then released Snape to snuggle once again into Hagrid's sleeve, where he was rocked and gentled into a peaceful ease.

"Well?" Pennywhistle asked.

"Two memories," Harry told her. "The first was seventeen years ago… Merlin, today's Halloween." Harry paused to look at the ceiling for a moment. "It was the night he heard that my mother was dead, and he tried to kill himself. The second was more than two years ago when he was told that someone else he cared about was dead. He went to see the body in the clinic…"

"A woman?" Pennywhistle asked.

"Yeah. They'd been… close."

"How many other women have there been in his life?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Other than his mother? I've never heard of anyone else. That doesn't mean anything, though. I'm not exactly the one he'd open up to."

"No, you got it," Hagrid interjected. "So far as I know, that's the only two. And his mum, of course. All dead and a fourth in danger."

"A fourth?" Pennywhistle exclaimed. "Explain this to me, please."

They did, stumbling over each other in the telling of it, how the muggle teachers had come, and how Snape had become interested in the prospect of a little muggle-born witch, and how his interest in her mother had blossomed…

"And now he's facing the death of this new woman. Merlin, has there ever been anyone he was close to who didn't die?"

Harry and Hagrid exchanged a glance. "Not that I know of, ma'am," Hagrid said. "Offhand I don't think there's anyone, male or female, as he was close to that's still alive. Except me, of course. And the staff here at Hogwarts. I'd kinda like to think I was the closest, but after me it'd have to be Professor McGonagall and Professors Sprout and Flitwick. Tha's about it, though, until Professor Clearwater come along."

"All right," said Pennywhistle. "I'm going back to London to look up a few things. You have to stay with him. Preferably you, Hagrid, since he seems to see you more in the role of a protector. Still, anyone is better than no one. Don't let him be alone. He's been suicidal before. I don't want it to happen again."

The two agreed, and Pennywhistle left for London.

Outside, in the streets of Hogsmeade, the hostage situation continued, growing neither better nor worse. Inside, in an upper parlor of the Three Broomsticks, a totally different drama was set to play out. And did, as soon as Snape roused from his self-imposed retreat.

"What's happening?" Snape demanded suddenly of Harry and Hagrid. "Is she all right?"

"I… eh… well… um…" Harry said – a litany not likely to pacify the newly alert Snape.

"What's going on?" Snape demanded of Hagrid.

"Nothin' much," Hagrid replied. "They're at what ya might call a stalemate. No one's going forward nor back. All them in Madam Puddifoot's – 'n that includes Professor Clearwater – is healthy and well. We're just waiting."

"Who's in charge?" Snape demanded, rising and pacing around the room. It was two o'clock in the morning, but neither of the other two was sure if now was a good time to inform Snape of that fact.

"Gawain Robards is handling it hisself," said Hagrid.

"Then it'll be days before anything's resolved. We'll have students collapsing from starvation before there's any progress."

"That's not going to happen," Harry pointed out. "They've been sending food in, simple things like sandwiches."

"That's even worse. That means they have less incentive to give up. This could last for weeks. How many entrances are there to Madam Puddifoot's? We could get in by the back…"

"Y're not going in," Hagrid stated flatly. "Y're staying out of it. Ya'd only make it worse."

"And who's going to keep me out of it? You?" Snape made a slight motion with his right wrist, but nothing happened. He looked down at his hand. "Where's my wand?" he demanded.

"I got it away from ya last evening," Hagrid confessed without a trace of remorse. "We was afraid ya might try damaging something. Seemed a good idea at the time. Seems a better one now."

"You are not keeping me a prisoner in this room!" Snape yelled at him, and strode to the door. Flitwick's barrier stopped him. "Take this thing down and let me out of here!"

"Ya ought t' keep yer voice down," Hagrid suggested calmly. "There's people all around trying to sleep."

"That's all right," Harry told him. "I'll just put a silencing spell around us…"

"Potter, open this door!"

"No!"

"Open it!" Snape made a move for Harry's wand, but Harry was equally fast and backed away, wand raised to repel Snape.

"You're going to stay here and let other people handle this!"

"I have never in my life stood idly by while someone else fought my battles for me!"

"You arrogant git!" Harry screamed at him. "What makes you think this is your battle? Did it ever occur to you that it might be Gawain Robards's battle? And maybe he'd really resent you interfering!"

"Potter, there are Death Eaters in Madam Puddifoot's holding someone who is… important to me."

"No. That's where you're wrong. They're holding a group of Hogwarts students hostage in exchange for prisoners. Students. It's just luck that they got a teacher, too. But guess what. They haven't got a clue that she's important to you, and we don't want them to find out because if they know she's important to you, she'll become important to them. And if you go blundering around over there, they're going to find out. Even Death Eaters can put two and two together if you shove it under their noses!"

"Harry, please," Snape was beginning to break down. "She's a muggle. They hate muggles."

"She's not what they came for. They're not going to jeopardize their goal by adding something stupid to the game plan."

"I can't just wait here doing nothing!"

"Ya got t' face it, lad," said Hagrid, taking Snape by the shoulders and turning him away from Harry, "waiting's the only thing ya can do. It's hard when it's someone ya love…"

"I don't love her! Why are you always trying to bring love into things?"

"Why're you always trying to keep it out?"

"There's no such thing as love!"

"I thought ya'd got past that a ways back. There is if ya add it up right."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure ya do. I ain't even going to ask if ya feel ya wanna protect her for the rest of yer life. Ya kinda made that clear already. D' ya think about her at least once every five minutes and imagine what her face'll look like when ya tell her things? D' ya kinda vibrate all over when she touches yer hand? Does yer entire world light up when she's happy? Can ya picture the two of ye growing old together, and it makes ya feel comfortable and peaceful like?"

Snape sat at one of the tables and slumped forward, his face buried in his arms. "O Hagrid," he whispered, "I don't know what I'll do if anything happens to her. I don't think I could bear it."

Harry settled into the chair opposite Snape. There was a tacit agreement between him and Hagrid that they had to keep the professor talking. After so many days and weeks working with Pennywhistle to keep Snape's brain open, Harry was sure the worst thing would be for him to lock tightly down again.

"Was this how you felt about, you know, the other one? The cousin?"

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Seems you ain't told me a lot about her."

Snape sighed. "Her name was Phina. Delphina Vaughn. And no, this isn't how I felt about her. She was more of a friend… I mean, she was more than just a friend, but she was…"

"Ya were close, I know that much," said Hagrid. "I ain't going to ask about the 'L' word."

"That's all right, Hagrid," Snape said. "It's easier with Phina. I didn't love her, I know that now, but we were comrades, soldiers in a war, and we helped each other forget for a while."

"What were you trying to forget?" Harry asked.

"Gad, Potter, you can be so…" Snape stopped, exasperated, then forced himself to continue. "That was one of the most frightening times… Every week, I tried to teach you occlumency, and every time you walked into my office I thought – this is it. This is the night he sees me through your eyes and from that moment I'm a dead man. It even happened one night. You made contact with him right there while I watched, and he was reaching out… I had to strike you to break the connection. Another few seconds…"

"Oh," said Harry. "I didn't realize. So when I looked at that memory…"

"Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if he'd come across my memories in your head? I was living on the edge of a razor. Phina brought a few hours of normality into a mad world. It was something I treasured, but there was no future in it."

"Ya see that future now?" Hagrid asked.

"I did, until this afternoon. Now I don't dare look five minutes ahead. I wasn't planning this, it just happened. But if I lose her, too, I know it won't ever happen again."

"I'd say then that ya love her."

"Hagrid, I love her very much. I don't think I knew how much until this started. And if you," Snape turned on Harry, "say one word of this to anyone…"

Harry grinned. "If I'd wanted to, I'd have done it before now. Do you have any idea how many memories of yours I watched this last summer? To tell the truth, I'd no idea you'd been through so much. It was a… a kind of humbling experience."

"So you understand why I have to do something."

"No. I don't. I understand why you think you have to do something, but you're staying right here with me and Hagrid."

The discussion and argument seesawed back and forth for the next few hours, until dawn tinged the windows of the rooms. That was when Robards arrived with Flitwick to let him in. He wasted no time.

"Tell me about Al Mulciber," he said, joining Snape and Harry at the table. "Can we trust him?"

"How far can you throw him?" Snape replied. "Subtract three feet from that, and that's how far you can trust him."

"He's willing to come and talk to his father."

"In exchange for what?"

"Easier sentencing. He doesn't want to go back to Azkaban, and he's trying to bargain for a softer place to get locked up in."

"So we're not talking about him going free?"

"We're not that stupid. He'll be under tight guard. And these aren't vague promises either. He's made specific requests about changes in treatment in exchange for specific things his father agrees to do. It's like drawing up a contract."

"It sounds like Mulciber. He never would make a commitment until he was sure who was strongest and had the best prospects. Once he took sides, though, he generally stuck by his choice."

"So he'll abide by the deal?"

"Yes, I think he will."

"Good." Robards rose and left the room, Flitwick behind him. "I'll keep you advised of our progress," was the last thing he said.

The next thing that happened came as a complete surprise. At about eight o'clock in the morning, Professor Sprout came into the room behind Flitwick. She was carrying Robbie Clearwater, whimpering in her right arm, while her left hand struggled to hold on to a kicking, squalling Jane. The moment Jane saw Snape, she ran to him, clutching his jacket with both fists and hiding her face in the cloth. Sprout sat in the chair Robards had occupied, and Robbie immediately left her to crawl into Snape's lap.

"Well," huffed Sprout, "there's no question about that, is there?"

It was an awkward moment, Snape having almost no experience whatsoever in holding small people. He hoisted Robbie up near his shoulder, stood, and gently maneuvered Jane over to the sofa. As soon as he sat down again, she was snuggled next to him, sobbing and hiccupping. Robbie burrowed into his other side.

"Have they had anything to eat?" Snape asked Sprout, trying to ignore the bemused looks on Harry's and Hagrid's faces.

"They hadn't sent breakfast in yet when that Mulciber fellow asked his dad to send the children out as a show of good faith. So I suppose not."

"Al asked for that?" Snape said. "I suppose it was Robards's idea."

"I don't think so. Robards seemed as surprised as everyone else, especially when it worked."

"Al always was a good card player," Snape commented, then addressed the children.

"Did your mommy smile and tell you to be good, Jane?" The little girl nodded without speaking. "I was sure she did," Snape continued. "She knew you were coming here to get a nice breakfast. What would you like to eat?"

There was a pause. Snape decided to take matters into his own hands. "Waffles?" he asked. "Or pancakes? And if you like, I bet we can get Winky to bring them to you."

This was welcome news. Jane raised her head. "Pancakes," she ordered, "with blackberry syrup. But Robbie wants bacon strips. He likes bacon strips."

"Is that true, Robbie?" When the little boy nodded emphatically, Snape agreed. "Bacon strips it is. Pomona, could you let Winky know?"

"You know," Harry said slyly after Sprout had gone out, "if this keeps up, I'm going to have to rethink my entire view of the universe as we know it."

"Get stuffed," Snape replied, a phrase that Jane loved and immediately began repeating.

"Get stuffed," she told Harry, and her piping voice oozed Lancashire.

Winky arrived with breakfast for everyone, and now there was something for Snape to do, because the children had to be kept happy and entertained. It was, after all, something that he could do for Peggy that it seemed no one else could, for Jane and Robbie refused to leave him, seeing in Snape a closer connection to their mother than even Winky could bestow. Snape was surprised at how pleased this made him, as if it vindicated his claim that he loved their mother.

Within an hour after eating, both children were sound asleep, cuddled close to Snape on the sofa. "If I hadn't seen it with m' own eyes," was Hagrid's pronouncement, "I wouldn'ta believed it."

As it turned out, the end game belonged to Aloysius Mulciber, and it was a sort of revenge against Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange for having dragged him back into the fray when they'd all been safe overseas. Al knew his father, and he played on his father's distrust of Reggie Lestrange to the point where the two nearly came to blows. Shortly after noon, the melodrama was over.

"Severus!" McGonagall called from the street. "Severus, you can come down now! They're coming out!"

Six hours earlier, Snape would have raced for the door without a thought for anyone else. Now, however, he had two others to think of, two tiny people who had to be awakened gently and told that it was time to go see their mommy now. Their short legs were slower than his, so he matched his pace to theirs, making sure that in their haste they didn't stumble and fall on the stairs, then holding hands as they rushed through the crowded, jubilant street.

Snape saw Clearwater first, and it seemed perfectly natural that his initial thought was for the children. He was already carrying Robbie, and he cried, "Look, Jane, there's mommy!" bending down so she could grasp his neck and be lifted up high enough to see.

That was how Peggy saw them in that first moment of recognition – Russ with his left arm holding Robbie and his right supporting Jane, who clung to his neck waving frantically at her mommy, the three people Peggy cared most about in the world together when she needed to hold and touch them, and she somehow contrived to embrace all three at once.

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	14. Chapter 14

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 14**

"I should think," Healer Pennywhistle commented as she poured tea, "that you would welcome the opportunity for a more settled life. It's the perfect time. You're willing. The lady is willing…"

"I didn't tell you that," Snape snapped accusingly as he accepted the tea. "I don't know where you'd get that idea."

"There are other people at Hogwarts I talk to besides you. It has been noticed that not only are the children and their mother very affectionate towards you, you are more than normally affectionate towards them, yet you seem to be determined to allow it to go no further than that. Are your feelings for her superficial?"

"No, not superficial. Not at all."

"Then why do you retreat?"

"There are things that people like me aren't meant to have."

"People like you? Half-bloods? Occlumenses? Male wizards under forty?"

"It's hereditary." Snape rose from the table where he'd been sitting and walked to the window that looked out on London streets. "I'm like my father."

"Who beat you. Tell me, how many times have you struck a woman or a child in anger?"

"Once."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

"Right after your parents died. How many times have you wanted to strike one of the students?"

"Teachers must never strike students."

"I said 'wanted.'"

"A couple of times."

"In the last ten years?"

"None."

"Not even Potter?"

Snape let a smile twitch across his mouth. "Not even Potter."

"The one you struck… Did she ever see the scars on your back?"

"No. I don't like this line of questioning." Snape paused. "How did you…?"

Now Pennywhistle smiled. "It's in your records. Dumbledore reported the abuse first. Pomfrey noted it. The Ministry made a record of it the first time you were arrested. The most recent time was a few months ago when you were restrained here at St. Mungo's." Pennywhistle sipped her tea. "It isn't genetic, you know. It's behavioral. The children of abusers learn to be abusers. What can be learned can be unlearned. I have the feeling that in the last twenty-four years you've unlearned a lot. And on your own, too – no help." There was another pause. "The second woman, the one you were intimate with, did she see the scars."

This time Snape emitted what was almost a laugh. "Under the circumstances it would've been hard to miss."

"Did you ever want to strike her?"

"No."

"Not even the tiniest twinge?"

"No. But then, I didn't love her."

"Ah. I see the distinction. Have you ever wanted to strike Professor Clearwater? Or either of her children?"

Snape thought of Jane throwing a tantrum all the way across the back lawn. In all honesty… "No," he said, and marveled at his own patience that day. "But that doesn't count," he continued. "There's never been a real confrontation between what I need and what I get. It hasn't been tested."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to suggest that you provoke a confrontation just to test whether or not you can control the abusive tendencies of two and a half decades ago. However, I personally think you have nothing to worry about on that score."

Which left Snape later with a lot to think about.

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_Saturday, November 7, 1998 (3 days after the full moon)_

"Do you have a home outside of Hogwarts?" Clearwater asked as she bundled the children in warm coats. It was the first weekend in November, and they were about to watch their first Quidditch game.

"A house," Snape replied. "I wouldn't really call it a home. I grew up there, but it doesn't have a lot of happy memories."

"I'm sorry. There's not much I know about your childhood."

"There's not much to tell. My father was poorly most of the time." Snape stopped. Weeks of talking to Pennywhistle were now making the warning bells ring. "No, that's not exactly true. M' dad was a boozer. When he'd been drinking, he got ugly."

"I didn't know wizards drank like that."

"There's nothing bad that muggles do that wizards don't do as well. But, as it happens, my dad was a muggle. Mum was the witch."

"You mean she put up with him?"

"It was how working class people lived in those days. The boozer husband and the irate wife with the rolling pin. It was a joke to some."

Clearwater smiled. "A wand would be better than a rolling pin any day." They left her rooms, Snape carrying Robbie and Clearwater holding Jane's hand to go down the stairs.

"She never used a wand at home," Snape said on the way down. "I grew up like a muggle. He resented the magic, and I think she always felt guilty that he'd been duped into thinking the magic would make his life better."

"It doesn't?"

"Magic," Snape informed her, "cannot create. At least not permanently. Not food, not money, not objects – it's all fleeting and transitory. The one thing it can do is move and repair. Take Hogwarts. The stones were set in place by magic, they were even hewn by magic, but they had to be real stones from a real mountain, or the castle would have fallen after a few weeks."

"I'd like to see the place where you grew up," said Clearwater.

Jane and Robbie loved the Quidditch game, jumping up and down and screaming shrilly as the brooms swooped overhead. Slytherin won, despite the heroic efforts of Gryffindor's seeker, but that was partly because Gryffindor was still putting its team together after a year of depredations. Snape had already realized that Quidditch was no longer of any importance to him since he was no longer the head of a house. Its value now was the entertainment of two small children.

The next day was Sunday, and Snape took Clearwater to Lancashire. They started on the good side of the river, where Snape pointed out the school he'd attended and the market where he did his shopping. They paused on the bridge over the river, and Snape was relieved to see it was cleaner than it had been. It even appeared that there were workers at the old mill a little ways upstream, and that the town was indeed restoring it for the tourist trade.

Clearwater was enchanted by the ancient cobblestone streets of the mill side of the river, which reminded her of the village in Yorkshire where she'd grown up. Many of the working class cottages from over a hundred years earlier were being converted into little shops and eating places, again for tourists exploring the historic mill district of Lancaster.

_Why didn't I notice this before?_ Snape thought, then remembered that the last time he'd been home was to collect clothing in a rush for a group of convicts fresh from a shipwreck. Before that it had been… a year and a half? A lot can happen in a year and a half.

They stopped at the end of Spinner's End, where the chimney of the mill loomed threateningly above the tiny houses at its foot. Seeing it now through Clearwater's eyes, Snape realized how the mill dominated everything, and that it was only after accepting its presence that you could begin to notice the moors. He opened the door and ushered her into his home.

It was unbearably shabby. In his parents' day the furniture had been secondhand and old. Poverty stalked everything in the rooms from the threadbare carpets, to the absence of a proper bath, to the coal grate in the kitchen. The house was small, cramped, and poor.

"Shouldn't the staircase be over there?" Clearwater asked, trying to make sense of the floor plan.

"It was, but I tore it up. My mother died because of a fall on the stairs. There was… blood…"

"Oh." Clearwater touched the side of one of the bookcases Snape had made so many years ago. "It isn't really a good place to raise children," she said.

"You're right," Snape replied. "It wasn't."

The next stop was Yorkshire. Snape was a bit surprised, as he'd imagined the house to be on the cliff itself, looking out to sea. But this was, of course, not a wizard's house and therefore not magically protected from wind and storm. It was on rising ground, but shielded from the sea by the rise of the cliff itself. From the house to the outlook over the water was about a fifteen minute walk.

A few hundred years ago, the house had started as one of those peasants' cottages with two separate rooms, one for people and one for animals, facing each other across an open, covered passage, but over the generations it had been expanded and added to so that now it was quite spacious. The original rooms were scullery and pantry, and there was a new kitchen (relatively speaking), a dining room, a sort of library and study, and a parlor, with four bedrooms on the upper floor, and an actual bathroom.

"Where does the water come from?" Snape asked.

"We have a well." Clearwater explained the duties and necessities of a home with a self-contained plumbing system. It was one of the realities of living on a small farm.

"You mean all this land is yours?" Snape asked, looking around.

"No. Only about five acres of it. It was the only thing of value my grandfather owned, and when Peter and I got married, he gave it to us. That's when I found out about Penelope's 'talent.' She helped us keep things in repair. Much less expensive than an actual roofer or plumber."

They explored the house, Clearwater regaling Snape with stories of her grandfather and grandmother when she visited them there. She had particularly fond memories of Christmas.

"Where are they now?" Snape asked, fearful of the answer, knowing what it was like not to have a family.

"Grandfather died shortly before Peter did. My grandmother's nearly ninety-five. She's living in Scarborough with my mum and dad."

"Do they know about… I mean, are there any other people around here like…"

"They know. They had to meet Penelope, and it would be hard to explain her friends otherwise. I think a few of the families in the district are magical, but we never moved in their circles. We're 'muggles,' after all, and until I got this job our only connection was Penelope."

"I was thinking about Jane," Snape confessed. "It's nice not being alone when you're growing up. If there were other children…"

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_Monday, November 16, 1998 (3 days before the new moon)_

The next week was difficult for Snape, as he could not get the images of the Yorkshire farm house out of his mind. He could picture himself there so easily, with open land around him and the sea crashing against the cliffs a short distance away. He could even see the children running happily through the grass. There was one image missing, though, and the lack of that one image meant that everything else was impossible. He spoke of it to no one, not Hagrid, not Pennywhistle, and cursed himself for being so mercenary.

Then, shortly after midnight in the early morning of November 16 (the feast day of St. Margaret of Scotland, though Snape did not know it), Snape woke suddenly from an unremembered dream to a sense of Peggy's presence with him that was so powerful that he looked around the room for her, certain she was there.

Rising quickly, Snape lit a Lumos spell, for the moonless night was dark indeed. At first he was frightened that Peggy's essence in the room meant that something had happened, but slowly he realized that the feeling was not external. It came from him, and he knew then, with a certainty that he'd never felt in his life before, that he wanted her. Not the house, not the sea, not even the children, but her, and without her, the rest was meaningless.

Dressing quickly, Snape slipped out of his rooms and down the corridor, pausing at the stairs to glance up at the floor above, and then ran down five flights and out onto the lawn. There was only one place he could think of, and he hurried to the cliff, to the little path that led down its face to the lake and Lily's rock.

There, already knowing what he had to do, Snape drew his wand and pointed it at the expanse of stars above him, crying softly, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ A soft, silvery cloud formed above him and quickly resolved itself into the shape of his little fox, a cunning creature with pointed muzzle and clever eyes. The doe that had haunted him ever since that terrible time more than two years before when his world was crumbling around him, the doe was gone.

_It seemed everyone was dying then – Sirius, Phina, Judge Bones – the world was more dangerous than I'd ever known it before. And then, when I needed her most, she came and stood by me. But I don't need her anymore. My life has moved on, and so has she. Thank you, Lily. I know what to do now._

But he couldn't do it right away. It was only one o'clock in the morning, and a good six hours until breakfast. It was all right. Snape could wait.

Professor Clearwater came down to breakfast at a quarter to seven, to find herself whisked into one of the unused classrooms off the entrance hall. It was early enough for the sky to still be dark and, as a consequence, the room was, too.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, smoothing her slightly rumpled robes, "Whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," he replied. "Nothing at all. At the moment everything is right. I just wanted to ask you something, and I'm hoping that after I ask, everything will still be right."

"I'm all ears," said Clearwater, bemused expectation on her face.

"Come by the window." There the first light of dawn was reaching the tops of the surrounding mountains. Shapes were emerging from the night, still eerily black and white, like a 1930's movie. Snape took Clearwater's left hand in his own.

"Margaret," he said, "Peggy. I hope this doesn't c…ome as too much of a sh…ock to you." Snape cursed inwardly as he realized his childhood stammer was coming back. He'd spent the last few hours planning exactly what to say and how to say it, and it was all coming apart in the first seconds. He tried to force himself to calm down, and failed miserably.

Clearwater, on the other hand, was utterly calm – cool, unruffled, and waiting.

"I know we've only known each other," Snape continued, "for three m…onths, and three months is scarcely enough time to even begin a friendship, much less anything deeper, but… well, two weeks ago I had to f…ace the possibility that I might never see you, never touch you again, and suddenly three months is all the time anyone needs if they've found the right person. I know you may not f…eel the same way I do, and if you don't, just say so. I'll understand, and I won't bother you any more… I mean, I'm not exactly the easiest person to get along with, and if you don't return my feelings, it would hardly be surprising…"

"Severus," said Clearwater, placing two fingers against his lips, "didn't you have something to ask me?"

Snape stared at her, then fumbled in his pocket. He'd gone home to get it – it had belonged to his muggle grandmother – an old-fashioned gold filigree ring with three tiny diamonds in a row, delicate and modest. "Peggy Clearwater," he said, "I want you to know that I love you. I have some hopes that you feel an affection for me as well. Would you consent to marry me and become my wife?" He held the ring tentatively in his hand.

She took the ring and slipped it on her finger. "Russ Snape," she said. "I love you as well, as do my children. I will marry you and be your wife."

Snape had no idea what to say next, so he avoided the issue entirely by taking Clearwater in his arms and kissing her, thus rendering speech impossible for either of them. After that, they had to go to the Great Hall for breakfast and to supervise the students like good little professors. For some insane reason, they imagined that what had just happened between them was, and for a while would remain, a secret. They forgot the unerring radar of older women who see themselves as surrogate mothers.

"It's about time," said McGonagall, moving behind Snape and Clearwater as soon as they sat down at the high table and speaking softly. "Have you set a date?"

"We don't want to do things too hastily," Clearwater rejoined, trying to hide a smile. "We thought we might wait until Christmas."

"It will be an interesting five weeks," McGonagall chuckled. "I'll wager the lad's on pins and needles already."

"Have they set a date?" Sprout asked, scurrying over. "And did he give her a ring?"

"Christmas," answered McGonagall, "if Severus can wait that long."

"I'm sitting right in front of you," Snape hissed. "You can talk to me, you know."

"I know that," McGonagall smiled. "But it's a new world you're entering, laddie, and you need to get used to it."

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That evening after dinner, Clearwater took Snape to Scarborough to meet her parents and her grandmother. It was late enough in the year so that there were few tourists, and the resort town was quiet and peaceful. Clearwater's parents lived in a townhouse a distance away from the waterfront. She stopped him at the foot of the steps going up to the front door.

"Now they know about magical people," she warned, "but they aren't really acquainted with any except Penelope and a couple of her young friends. So take this slowly and act more mugglish."

"Believe me," said Snape, "I'll be on my best behavior for Mr. and Mrs. Clear… Their name isn't Clearwater, though, is it?"

"Of course not. That was my husband's name. My maiden name was Foxe. My parents are William and Ann Foxe, and my grandmother is Margaret, like me."

Truth be told, Mr. and Mrs. Foxe, who had learned of the engagement via a telephone call from the nearest nonmagical town, did not at first seem overwhelmingly impressed by their future son-in-law. Snape rather suspected they distrusted his appearance. He couldn't help having his father's nose in his mother's face, though he did wonder if maybe he oughtn't to have done something with his hair and clothes. _Maybe a suit and tie? I hope I don't remind them of a vampire._

"So you're the teacher chap who interviewed Peg for that new job she's taken?" Mr. Foxe commented after they'd served Severus tea.

"Yes, sir," Snape replied.

"What do you teach?"

"Nothing at the moment, sir." That was not what Snape meant, so he quickly elaborated. "I'm the administrative assistant to the headmistress right now, in charge of changes in the curriculum."

"Peg told us about that. Myself, I can't see a school that didn't have math or science courses. Bit dodgy, if you know what I mean. What did you teach?"

"Potions." This answer, too, required elaboration. "It's a traditional name in our culture, sir. It's more of a class in medical chemistry – pharmacology and pharmaceutics."

"Are you a doctor?"

"I work on an occasional basis with doctors and other medical professionals. In addition to teaching, of course."

Mrs. Foxe spoke up then. "Last summer Penny made mother a remedy for her arthritis. It was one of the best things mother ever tried. Did she learn that at your school?"

"Miss Clearwater was always a very apt student. That was probably a preparation we covered in her fifth year."

"Medicine, eh?" said Mr. Foxe. "That's not a bad line of work. Peg could do worse." His manner became more relaxed and friendly.

"What do your parents do?" Mrs. Foxe asked.

"I'm afraid both my parents died when I was in my teens. An automobile accident."

"And you've never been married before?"

"I never met the right woman before."

Mr. Foxe narrowed his eyes. "You are bringing some experience to this union…?"

"Father!" Clearwater exclaimed.

"Enough," said Snape acidly, "to understand what is required of me and to embarrass neither myself nor her."

"I just want my girl to be happy."

"Excuse me, sir, but that is now my business, not yours."

The older man glared for a second, then roared with laughter. "Right you are, son! And you just put me in my place, right enough. It's your business, it is. Not mine. Not mine." He continued chuckling for a minute.

"Had you thought about the wedding?" Mrs. Foxe asked, now that the men seemed to have reached an agreement.

"Yes," said Clearwater. "Something very modest and simple. I'm an older woman with two children, and we don't need a big affair. A few family and friends. A winter wedding is nice. I've suggested Christmas, but we haven't quite decided yet."

"Oh, dear. That's a bit rushed, isn't it? We have to get an appointment with the vicar and arrange a date for…" Mrs. Foxe stopped and exchanged a glance with her husband.

"I was thinking more of just the civil ceremony this time," Clearwater stated. "and we're not children. We know our own minds. I don't think Christmas is too rushed."

Mr. and Mrs. Foxe didn't press the point, and the conversation shifted to other topics, Snape finding to his great relief that Mr. Foxe was also interested in Shakespeare. They had a good discussion about "Hamlet," and even agreed on most points.

Snape and Clearwater got back to Hogwarts around ten that evening. "I think it went rather well," Clearwater told him as they walked upstairs to their separate rooms.

"I don't think he liked me," Snape admitted.

"Oh, he liked you. Wait until you see my father when he really doesn't like someone. An experience you will never forget."

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The first big snag, as it turned out, were the family and friends of the bride, most of whom were totally unaware of the groom's connection with the world of magic.

"We could have two services," Snape suggested. "A wizarding one and a muggle one. Not that either would be very large. It's just that the one group can't meet the other."

"Or we could have the service for one group, and a reception for the other."

Snape gazed at Clearwater with admiration and relief. "Just the thing," he said. "A muggle service and a wizard reception. The wizards would understand about staying separate from the muggles. It still wouldn't be very big, but it would be more relaxed."

"Is there anyone you want me to invite in the muggle world?" Clearwater asked.

"Yes, in fact, there is. Mrs. Hanson, who helped raise me, and a few of my dad's old mates. It's not half a dozen total, and I'm not sure they'd all come… Your parents could let your people know, quietly, that I don't have a family."

"They'll all be very sympathetic and tell you how proud your parents would have been."

The guest list for the wizard reception turned out to be longer than expected. First, of course, were all the teachers and staff at Hogwarts, every one of whom accepted. Snape was going to stop there, but McGonagall insisted that he had to invite the Weasleys. "After what you did for Ginny, they would be very hurt not to be asked to share some joy with you."

The Weasleys led to Potter, Granger, Longbottom, and Lovegood, and that made Snape think of a couple of Slytherins – his first Quidditch team, Algie Colfax, Sergey Duval, Josh van Zandt, Richie Gamp – students from his first teaching years, like Paul Hooper. It was Potter himself who reminded Snape of a couple of others.

"Gawain Robards was wondering if his invitation got lost in the mail," Harry told Snape when he came up for the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match in early December. "And the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix have also been expressing the hope that you haven't forgotten them. And you can't forget Shacklebolt. He still says he owes you one, though I'm not sure what for."

And if Robards and Shacklebolt were to be invited, then Nigel Yaxley had to be invited, too. And the Kettleburns, and the Dawsons… In the end, Snape was astounded to find he had a guest list of around fifty people.

Other negotiations were taking place, a very important one being with Winky. Winky was, to her great regret, a free elf. It was therefore with some discomfort that Snape approached her about taking up a position at a modest residence on the Yorkshire coast, there to be in charge of the upkeep of the household establishment and guardian of the children. It was a hard-fought battle before Winky could work Snape down to a salary that Winky considered respectable, but in the end she won and agreed to work for him and Professor Clearwater as soon as the two were wed.

A few days before the wedding came the last and biggest snag – Hagrid. Hagrid himself placed the problem before McGonagall. "Professor Snape wants me t' be his best man."

"At a muggle wedding? Impossible. There's no way to explain you to anyone's satisfaction."

"That's what I been trying to tell him. He don't want t' listen. Can ya talk some sense into him, Professor?"

McGonagall tried. She pointed out Hagrid's drawbacks, which were basically his size, his uncouthness, and his… size.

"Fine!" Snape snapped at her. "How about Flitwick? Would it be easier to explain his size?"

"You know that's equally out of the question."

"Then I'll take Dumbledore. I'm sure I could explain a talking portrait."

"Why are you being so difficult, Severus?"

"When a man gets married, he's supposed to have his best friend, someone closer to him than anyone, stand up with him. I don't have anyone but Hagrid. Not alive, anyway. And," he added, "it has to be a man. Otherwise I'd ask you."

McGonagall smiled. "Hagrid will be at the Hogwarts celebration later. Wouldna it not do just to have someone who knows what ye've been through and will be happy for ye?"

After the second week of December, the Christmas break started, and Hogwarts emptied. The last minute plans for the wedding were made in relative peace. The date was the twenty-fourth, the banns had been posted for over two weeks, and on the morning of Christmas Eve, Snape sought out Clearwater, who was waiting until the right moment to get dressed, after which she would apparate with a very excited McGonagall, who was dressed in proper muggle fashion and had been practicing. Snape brought with him a stocky wizard who looked like a professional boxer.

"Peggy, I'd like you to meet Nigel Yaxley. He'll be my best man. Nigel, may I present the future Mrs. Severus Snape."

Leaving the women and going to the floor below, Yaxley entered Snape's rooms for a check of his clothing. Both men were wearing modest three-piece suits and ties, Snape in dark blue and Yaxley in black. Snape's suit complemented Clearwater's dress, which was of the palest blue. Snape had decided, after meeting her parents, to avoid any repeat of the stark black and white that had made him, if no one else, think of vampires. He straightened Yaxley's tie, then both donned overcoats.

"Are you sure I'm not going to mess things up for you?" Yaxley asked as he and Snape apparated into Scarborough and made their way to the registry office on Burniston Road.

"You?" Snape scoffed. "Never. You're the most normal pureblood wizard I ever met. All you have to do is stand beside me. You don't even have to carry the ring. The little boy's doing that."

"So I don't do anything important."

Snape stopped and turned to face Yaxley. "Not important? You hold me up when I feel like fainting. You remind me that what I'm doing is something I want and will make me happy. You keep me from going crazy and running out of the registry office like a lunatic. In sum, you support me when I most need support on the most important day of my life." He looked at Yaxley and then sniffed derisively. "Nothing important? Not on your life!"

Yaxley grinned. "That's all right, then. Just so long as I don't mess up something important."

Snape stopped again and pulled Yaxley into a doorway. "There is one important thing," he said. "You're going to have to sign as a witness. When they hand you the pen, pretend you've seen one before. It's just like a quill, except you don't have to dip it in ink."

"Don't worry," Yaxley intoned solemnly. "If I'm not sure what to do, I'll just slow things down by pretending I've forgotten my reading glasses at home."

Beginning to wonder if he was being put on, Snape narrowed his eyes. "How do you know about reading glasses."

"I'm not a total idiot."

"You just remember that."

The registry office was quite pleasant, with a white, official section whose counter was decorated with flowers, and a door leading out onto a pleasant patio garden. Through an archway was the darker paneled ceremonial room with its few rows of chairs – small and cozy. The parents of the bride were already there.

On being introduced to Yaxley, Mr. Foxe sized him up and asked, "Middleweight?"

"Yes, sir," Yaxley replied politely, then to Snape's astonishment added, "Generally amateur. Just one professional match back in eighty-seven."

"Thought you looked like you knew the inside of a ring," Mr. Foxe nodded with satisfaction.

Snape and Yaxley were introduced to the guests, who consisted of the grandmother, a few aunts and uncles, two couples who were to be their neighbors in Yorkshire, three old family friends, Bradford and Davis from Hogwarts, and five cousins. Neither Mrs. Hanson nor his father's pub mates had been able to make the trip to Yorkshire, but among the cousins was a very familiar young lady in a pale pink dress and a chaplet of flowers.

"Miss Clearwater," Snape said, taking the hand she extended to him. "It is good to see you again. How have you fared these past years?"

"Last year was a bit difficult, but we managed to escape the worst. Best not to talk of that now. I must confess that while I was in your classes at school, it never occurred to me that you might become a member of my family."

"Believe me, Miss Clearwater, I was equally taken by surprise."

Penelope was commandeered then by Mrs. Foxe, who announced that the bride had arrived. As Penelope was bridesmaid, she was whisked away for the procession. McGonagall, looking almost mugglish, came in and patted Snape's hand, Snape and Yaxley took their places by the podium where the licensed registrar stood, and the assembled friends and family stood by the chairs.

There was a moment's solemn stillness, which was broken by a young voice saying, "Where do I go now, Mommy?"

"Come with me, Janey. I'll show you," said Penelope taking her young cousin by the hand and leading her forward along the aisle. "You walk slowly, come right here by this box, and look at Professor Snape. Then you try to be really quiet while people talk."

"Is he my daddy yet?"

"Not yet, but in a few minutes he will be."

Jane having been shown where to stand, and Robbie being told to stand by Snape, both children were taken back to the white, official side of the archway. Snape took a deep breath.

There was some giggling in the back where the white counter was, and then the whisper, "All right, dear, you can go now," and Jane entered, wearing a blue velvet dress with lace at the collar and cuffs. She carried a little basket of rose petals and very solemnly stopped part way into the room to take a handful of them and toss them in the air. When she got to the front, she repeated the action, then sprinkled the last of the petals next to Snape, upending the basket to make sure all the petals were out.

Behind her came Robbie in a miniature blue suit, with a little cushion that held the rings. He got excited and ran to catch up to Jane, making Snape cringe slightly at the thought of the rings on the carpet. He didn't have to worry, though, for everything was safe, the rings being tied to the cushion with small blue ribbons. Robbie stood very importantly between Snape and Yaxley.

Penelope entered next, with Clearwater a few paces behind. This was a morning wedding, and the second of a widow with children, so there was no drama of gown and veil, no ritual of being given away. Their dresses were soft and graceful, but not obviously wedding clothes, rather something that each would be able to wear later to a party or someone else's wedding. Both were crowned with simple flowers, and Clearwater carried a small bouquet which she handed to Penelope when she stood next to Snape.

The superintendent registrar invited the guests to sit, then said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have come together today to celebrate the joining of two people who are special to each other and to everyone here. This is a joyous occasion, but it is also a solemn contract, so if there is anyone who knows of any reason why they may not wed, it is incumbent upon you to speak now."

The pause after these words lasted only a couple of seconds. Then the registrar turned to Snape. "Are you, Richard Severus Snape, free lawfully to marry Margaret Amanda Foxe?"

"I am," Snape replied.

"And are you, Margaret Amanda Foxe, free lawfully to marry Richard Severus Snape?"

"I am," Clearwater said, and turned to smile at her soon-to-be husband.

"Now," continued the registrar," if this was the wedding of two young people just embarking on life, I would at this point give them a little lecture about the realities of marriage, how they must be patient with each other, and support each other in the bad times as well as the good, and how they must not mistake passion for love, that love is only now beginning, and will mature and grow as they mature and grow. Margaret and Severus, however, already understand this. They come to this union clear-eyed, accepting and respecting each other for what they are, and knowing that life is more than just dreams and fantasies. And so both I and you are spared having to listen to my lecture."

There was laughter among the guests at this, and even Yaxley chuckled.

"In token of their understanding, Margaret and Severus have asked me instead to say this. Some of you may even find it familiar. – You can give without loving, but you cannot love without giving. Only those who habitually perform small acts of kindness are capable of great acts of love. And the extent of our love is equal to the extent that we are able to forgive. Love is knowing that even when we are alone, we will never be lonely again. And the greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved. Loved for ourselves, and even loved in spite of ourselves."

The registrar turned to Snape. "Do you have the ring?"

Yaxley untied the ribbon that held Clearwater's ring and handed it to Snape.

"Take her left hand in yours, and affirm your contract."

Holding Clearwater's hand, Snape said, "I, Richard Severus Snape, take you, Margaret Amanda Foxe, to be my wedded wife." He slipped the ring onto her finger.

Penelope then took the second ring from Robbie's cushion and gave it to Clearwater.

"I, Margaret Amanda Foxe, take you, Richard Severus Snape, to be my wedded husband."

Snape watched in fascination as the gold band slid onto his finger. At that moment he knew that Clearwater was the most beautiful woman in the world, and he felt humbled. The registrar's hand touched his shoulder and, holding Clearwater's hand in his own, Snape turned to face the small gathering of friends.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the registrar, "I present to you the new husband and wife. It is considered traditional for you to now exchange a kiss."

Snape and Clearwater turned to each other and gently touched lips. The room broke into applause, and it was done.

Linking Clearwater's arm in his and taking Robbie's hand while she held Jane's, Snape walked with them between the two rows of clapping people. It wasn't over yet. There were papers to sign, the wedding luncheon, and the reception at Hogwarts.

"How do you feel," Yaxley grinned.

"I don't know," said Snape. "I haven't had time to think about it."

There was no time to think about it at the registry office, as that was taken up with signing forms and getting copies. Nor was there time at the luncheon because of the social obligation of being polite to people who were total strangers. He shook hands with everyone, was hugged by the women and had his back patted by the men, fielded questions about his own family and employment, smiled politely at jokes, and had just settled next to Clearwater… Mrs. Snape… Margaret… when Yaxley rose and tapped his spoon against a glass.

_Oh no! He's going to give a speech_, Snape thought, and steeled himself for the worst.

"May I have your attention please, ladies and gents," Yaxley started, looking even more like a prizefighter with his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his waistcoat, "most of you don't know me, and are probably wondering why I'm here. My name is Nigel, I'm the best man, and I'm here because I once bet Severus that he'd never be able to find a good woman who'd be willing to take him, and he made me promise that if I lost, I'd stand up and give a public speech. Now that he's found himself the best there is, this is his way of ensuring I keep my end of the wager.

"I've known about Severus off and on for a good number of years, but I only got to know him in the last two because I got told by management to help him set up a laboratory in a new branch office of the company we were working for at the time. Now I'd had some experience setting up a new office – not a lot of success, mind you, just experience – and I knew Severus hadn't any at all, and I thought to myself, Fine. They want me to mollycoddle this young man and teach him how to do things. Which is probably what Mrs. Snape is thinking right now concerning the housekeeping. He's going to walk into a completely new situation, and she's going to have to train him up to it. Putty in her hands he'll be for the first couple of years.

"I'm here to tell you, ma'am, don't make any plans of the kind. You poor, innocent thing. You've gone and married the most god-awfullest organized person in the world. He won't have been in that house an hour before he's memorized the floor plans upstairs and down, seen the contents of every closet, the condition of every piece of furniture, and knows the electrical load of the fuses and wiring and the water pressure in the pipes. By the end of the second hour he'll present you with a list of every bolt that needs tightening, every hole that needs patching, and every scratch in the paint. By this time you'll be tearing your hair and looking up grounds for annulment.

"My advice to you, ma'am, is to take a deep breath, go into the kitchen, and fix a cup of tea. When you've finished it, you'll come out to find that he's tightening the bolts, patching the holes, and repainting everything. Not only does he point out what needs doing, he does it himself. I never spent a more idle few weeks in my life than when I was supposed to be helping him. You got yourself a good one, ma'am. You're on easy street now. I suggest you prepare yourself to enjoy it."

Yaxley raised his glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, would you join me in a toast to the bride and groom. May all their joys be too big to conceal, and their troubles too small to see."

The company rose, applauding, and drank the toast. Snape, immensely relieved at the things Yaxley had not said, shook his hand, and then everyone settled down to eat. After several minutes, Jane began wandering from table to table calmly informing everyone that this was a very important day because today she, Jane, had not only a mommy, but a daddy, too. Robbie, tired out from the strain of being the center of attention for all of ten minutes, fell asleep in his mommy's lap. Since Margaret was now unable to use both hands, Severus cut her meat for her so that she needed only one hand to eat.

Penelope leaned across the table. "You have no idea how cute that looks, Professor," she said wickedly.

Snape grimaced. "And to think I once considered you a model student. Pity you're no longer in my classes. You do not, by chance, have a younger cousin in Hogwarts that I could retaliate against instead?"

"Not until Jane goes there. Have I checked you, sir?"

"Checked and mated. The one Clearwater I could not use against you. But you will not, under any circumstances mention this to any…" A terrible thought entered Snape's head. "You're not still going with that Weasley boy, are you? Percy?"

"Not for ages. You knew about that?"

"Have you every known a Weasley to be able to hide anything?"

Luncheon ended, and the bridal cake was brought out. Margaret shifted Robbie over to her mother so that she and Severus could cut and ceremonially feed each other the first piece. Then Margaret served slices of the cake – a traditional pound cake – to her guests.

There was quite a bit of cake left, so Snape wasn't surprised when two women, future neighbors, asked if they might take some home for younger members of their families. Margaret offered them all they wanted, and each took a generous chunk. What did surprise Snape was that they appeared to be cutting the cake into smaller pieces and placing each piece in a separate, rather ornate little box. _Probably a local custom_, he thought, and said nothing.

Then the luncheon reception was over, the guests gone. Snape, Yaxley, and McGonagall found a quiet place to apparate back to Hogsmeade with Margaret and the children.

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_The late afternoon of Thursday, December 24, 1998 (2 days before the first quarter)_

Hogsmeade was cold and Hogwarts hill barren and eerie in a fresh, thin blanket of snow. It was only three-thirty, but that far north the sun was setting and dusk gathered quickly. Severus and Margaret carried the children, both for speed and for warmth. The coats they wore were barely adequate in the biting air.

The entrance hall, too, was empty and quiet, though with the massive doors to the Great Hall firmly shut, Severus had a feeling something was in the air and a good idea of what was behind those doors. McGonagall, however, led them to the little room where the first years waited before their sorting. In it was a set of formal wizard robes for each of them, in complementary, though not exactly matching, Slytherin green and silver. There was even a set of formal black robes for Yaxley.

"Look, Janey," Margaret exclaimed. "You get to be a witch tonight. How lovely!"

They changed quickly into the straight silver gowns with the green velvet robes over them and the tall pointed hats while Yaxley stood guard outside the door. Jane was in ecstasies, Robbie was going to be tripping over his robes all evening, and Severus took the opportunity of McGonagall's having gone to change into her own robes to kiss Margaret in a bit more personal way than he had at the registry office. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest. They separated just before McGonagall stuck her head back through the doorway.

"Ready?" she asked quickly. "Everyone feels they've been kept waiting quite long enough, and I fear Hagrid may be a wee bit tipsy."

They crossed the entrance hall in a small procession, Severus and Margaret first, then Jane and Robbie, with McGonagall and Yaxley in the rear. As if enchanted with a recognition spell, the mighty doors of the Great Hall swung open at their approach.

The Hall was dim. By the faint light of a few torches, Severus could see that the long school tables were gone. Round tables with silent guests were placed around the hall to give room in the center for dancing, and groaning buffet tables stood at both front and back. Severus noted this, but it was not what drew his attention. What did was the figure of Albus Dumbledore sitting magnificently dressed at his old place in the center of the high table, flanked by members of the staff. It took a moment of dumbfounded shock before Severus realized that what he was looking at was a life-sized portrait of Dumbledore. In the faint light, the illusion had been almost perfect.

Dumbledore rose inside the frame where he sat. "Severus Snape," he called in a stern voice, "are you a married man?"

"Yes, Professor, and I've brought my wife with me to prove it."

"Merlin, that is a relief," said Dumbledore shaking his head. "I was afraid you would wriggle out of it at the last moment. Ladies and gentlemen, our vigil has not been in vain. I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Severus Snape!"

The ceiling exploded with fireworks, and the assembled guests (Hagrid not being the only one who was slightly tipsy) began to clap and cheer. It had been a while since they'd had an excuse for a really good party, and this excuse was better than most. Winky darted forward to take possessive charge of the children, and Severus and Margaret walked to the high table to take their places at its center, Dumbledore's portrait being moved to make way for them.

Plates piled with food appeared before the newlyweds, despite their protests that they'd just come from a luncheon. It was clearly expected that they would feast through the evening. Soft music floated around them, and a woman's voice – Sprout's, though she tried to disguise it – called out, "The first dance! They must start the first dance!"

"Do you know how to dance?" Margaret whispered to Severus.

"Do you?"

"Not very well."

"So far as I can tell, all we have to do is hold onto each other and rock back and forth in time to the music, and everyone will be satisfied."

Margaret nodded. "That sounds like a plan," she said, and they rose and went to the center of the floor where she put a hand on his shoulder, he an arm about her waist, and they stepped forward and back to the music's rhythm. Within seconds the dance floor was crowded with other couples, and they were saved.

Harry Potter came over with Ginny Weasley to offer congratulations. "Harry was a bit miffed, you know," Ginny said, "that you didn't think of him when you couldn't have Hagrid as your best man."

Severus rolled his eyes. "We're talking about a muggle group that never heard of Harry Potter and know nothing of witches. What were they going to think if a previously unmarried man just a year short of forty showed up at his wedding with an eighteen-year-old boy as his best man?"

"I didn't think about that," Harry laughed.

"When do you ever, Potter?" Severus retorted in mock exasperation. "When do you ever?"

Probably the worst point of the reception was when Gawain Robards asked Margaret to dance, at which point Severus learned not only that Robards could dance, but that Margaret could, too, a discovery that led to only one logical conclusion.

"What is the matter, Severus?" asked Dumbledore's portrait. "This is not a day on which I was expecting you to be glum."

"I have to learn how to dance," Severus replied, not taking his eyes from the couple on the floor.

Dumbledore followed his gaze. "Ah, yes. I see what you mean. I am greatly encouraged by your response to the challenge, however. Never stop courting her, my boy. Never stop courting her."

Hagrid was not only tipsy, but boisterous. Flitwick was mischievous, Kettleburn hearty, Arthur curious, McGonagall possessive, Molly maternal, and Sprout sentimental, and in the end Severus was very tired.

"Do you think it would be all right if we just… you know," he asked Dumbledore.'

"Left? In the middle of a party in your honor?" Dumbledore smiled. "Do you not know that it is traditional for the bride and groom to depart early? Not only do the guests not mind, it gives them cause to be amused and an excuse to party all the more."

"Oh," said Severus, and sought out Margaret.

They gathered Winky and the children and headed down the hill in the sparkling night with the light of the near quarter moon glinting off the snow. Once outside the gate, all they needed was a twist, a pop, and they were at the front door of 'their' home on the Yorkshire coast. Margaret unlocked the door with a perfectly ordinary key, and as they entered Severus thought, _How long before I stop feeling like a guest here and begin to think of it as home?_

Hang up the coats, brush the snow from the shoes and set them to dry. Start a fire in the hearth. Go into the kitchen to fix some tea. The small details of life were what made the difference. At least some of what Yaxley had said was true, for Severus wanted to know right there about the propane tanks (luckily something he already knew well), the stove, the hot water heater… and Winky had to be shown the kitchen and the areas that would become her charge.

Winky had had her own little party at Hogwarts earlier that day, before the Snapes arrived for the reception. The other elves agreed that finding a situation where she would be able to ignore sordid topics like wages and benefits and dedicate herself to one family – the true vocation of all house-elves – was a stroke of unparalleled good fortune, and they all wished her luck and good fortune.

"Do you want a bedtime story, dear?" Margaret asked Jane when they returned to the living room. Jane, half asleep, nodded emphatically. Every ritual has to start somewhere and Severus, after being placed on the sofa with Robbie in his lap and Jane next to him, watched as Margaret sifted through what seemed to him a very large number of small books, finally settling beside Jane with something that had the improbable title of _Winnie the Pooh_. Here Severus was initiated into the mysteries of Pooh Bear, who got stuck in the doorway of a friend's home because he ate too much honey, and how it took a week's dieting to reverse the effects of a single afternoon's binge. He marveled at the lessons so subtly conveyed through a seemingly nonsensical tale.

Then came the ritual of 'tucking in.' Severus could never remember having been 'tucked in' by his own parents, and so he was able to approach the task without any preconceptions about the 'right' way to do it. With Jane and Robbie safely bedded down, and Winky in the same room to watch over them, Severus and Margaret were finally alone together for the first time that day. It was eight o'clock.

Margaret wanted to sit on the sofa and talk for a while, and so they did, reliving the events of the day, smiling at Jane's antics and Yaxley's speech, wondering if the party at Hogwarts was still going strong. It was good just to be together, relaxed and comfortable.

Then, for the only time that night, the images of two other women surfaced in Severus's mind. The first, of course, was Lily, who had shown him that a man and a woman can be friends, friends whose conversation satisfies a need far greater than the meaning of the mere words could ever convey. The second was Phina, who had taught him that contact was nothing to fear or flee from, but that two people are more gently and securely bound together by thousands of tiny threads of touch and soft caress than by the great ropes of passion. He said a silent word of thanks to both ladies, and then thought of them no more that night.

It was shortly after nine when Margaret rose from the sofa. Stretching out her hand to Severus, she said simply, "Come, husband," and led him to the stairs.

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The next morning was Christmas Day. Severus was up early, and the first to see that Winky had decorated the whole house for the holiday. It was wonderful that she'd remembered, for both Severus and Margaret had been living at Hogwarts, and so the house had been empty for four months, and the business of the wedding had taken up all their attention. There was one huge problem, however. Severus never exchanged Christmas gifts with anyone and now, this Christmas morning, he had none to give. He knew that Margaret would understand, and Robbie would probably not notice, but how do you explain to a four-year-old that her new daddy didn't get her a Christmas present?

"Don't worry," Margaret's voice came from behind him, and Severus turned to greet her and be kissed 'good morning.' "There are gifts, and they're from both of us."

"Thank goodness," Severus exhaled. "By now you must have realized that in many ways I'm the most socially inept person you'll ever meet. I'd forgotten until now that it even was Christmas. I don't even know when your birthday is, or Robbie's."

"But you know Jane's?"

"You told me. Halloween, remember?"

"Ah, yes. We were a bit busy on her birthday, weren't we?" Margaret smiled. "Will you help me put the gifts out? It would be good for them to be under the tree before the children wake up."

Christmas breakfast was a bouncy, excited affair because Jane and Robbie weren't allowed to open any presents until after they'd eaten together. Then they attacked the wrapping paper, squealed over toys, and had to be reminded about hugs and thank yous. By eleven o'clock, Jane and Robbie were busy playing, Margaret was busy with Jane and Robbie, Winky was busy with lunch, and Severus decided to explore the land.

Five acres was more land than Severus had ever expected to own in his life. The house was on the upper part, sheltered by the ridge of cliff beyond. From there it sloped gently down, and in the lower section a stream passed through one corner of the property. There were quite a few trees scattered about, several near the house for more protection from the wind.

The section in front of the house was a flower garden. It was nicely laid out, with narrow, formal beds leading from the gate up to the house, and a country-garden style beyond. Along the sides of the property were two tool sheds, and beds of what must have been vegetables before Margaret left to stay at Hogwarts. It was all in fairly good condition. It would take a little work to put it in order again, but it was far from impossible.

What Severus was looking for, however, was a place to plant herbs. Not just rosemary and thyme, but all the common herbs he might need for potions. An herb garden like his grandmother's, like Nana's. That would be best on the higher, rockier ground, and to Severus's relief, that section of the property was still open and unplanted.

It was while he was checking out this part of his new domain that Severus became aware that he was being watched. Watched by persons clearly older than juveniles and younger than adults. Persons who from time to time stifled a giggle from behind bushes on the other side of his fence. _There must not be very much to do around here if the local teenage girls have come prowling on Christmas Day to see what I look like._

Back in the house, Winky served lunch, Severus and Margaret talked about the garden while they ate, and the children played. Margaret was thrilled that he was willing to take up the task of gardening. He asked her about the local girls, but she was as mystified as he.

Mr. and Mrs. Calvert, who'd been at the wedding, came to call at two o'clock. The conversation consisted of pleasantries. "I'll wager you haven't found as much to fix up as your friend yesterday thought you would," Mr. Calvert said, smiling.

"That's quite true," Severus admitted. "The house really is in quite good condition."

"Russ is thinking of working on and adding to the garden, though," Margaret put in, at which the Calverts exchanged a glance.

"Before you go buying, you might look around the neighborhood," suggested Mrs. Calvert. "I've some things you could use – agrimony, valerian, nightshade, fox glove…" She paused at the surprised look on Severus's face. "Please don't be cross. Old Mrs. Pemberton saw you come in, in November, and swore you were one of the old ones – they say there are still a few over Pendle way, and we were hoping, you see."

"How did you know I came from Pendle?"

The look the Calverts exchanged this time was one of triumph. "We didn't," said Mr. Calvert. "We just heard there were some still there. Are you? Are you a sorcerer? A witch healer?"

"There are," Severus said brusquely, "no such things as witches."

"No?" returned Mr. Calvert. "Then why didn't you hire a car at the wedding? I counted four adults and two children without transportation. But you got everywhere you needed to go with no problem. We tested the cake, too."

"What's that supposed…? Do you think we did something to the cake?"

"No, no. Don't take me wrong. But it was the cake at a wizard's wedding, and there's an old superstition about girls sleeping with a piece of wedding cake under the pillow. There were half a dozen in the neighborhood that wanted to see if there was anything special about this cake. So we took them each a slice."

"And what happened?" Severus asked, thinking of the giggling girls behind the bushes.

"A dream for every piece of cake. And John Kaye in particular wants to meet and thank you because he couldn't stand that hooligan his Amy was set to marry, but she saw someone else in her dream plain as plain, and first thing this morning she called young Eric and sent him packing. There's many of us thought she just went with him to spite her dad and was glad of an excuse to be shut of him. You gave her the excuse."

"Wait a minute," Severus said, "do you mean there are more than half a dozen families in the area that think I'm a… what do you call it… a wizard?"

"Closer to two dozen. We had an old woman here about twenty years ago, Calliope Earnshaw was her name, and no one had any idea how old she was, but she was old in our grandparents' time. She supplied the neighborhood with salves and poultices and simples that beat out anything on the National Health, and then she died. We knew there was something different about young Penelope, but she never came here often. Then Mrs. Clearwater went off to teach at Penelope's school and when we heard earlier this month that she was set to marry a professor from that school… Well, you can't blame people for hoping."

Severus and Margaret exchanged a glance of their own. She approved and nodded her consent. "Well," Severus said, "I do know how to make salves and poultices from herbs, but I'm certainly not a licensed practitioner of medicine, and this whole business about wizards and witches I find… bizarre."

"Salves and poultices. It's a start." Mr. Calvert allowed the conversation to shift to other things, and shortly afterwards he and his wife took their leave. No one had even hinted at love potions, but Severus could not shake the suspicion that they were uppermost in the minds of the giggling girls.

The ensuing week was thoroughly enjoyable. Jane and Robbie got the undivided attention of Winky in their own home and quickly relegated Margaret and Severus to second rank. Margaret and Severus took full advantage of the demotion and spent inordinate amounts of time in a mutually shared privacy. Neighbors called at odd intervals, but always in the mid afternoon, and the second half of the Christmas break acquired the aspects of an actual honeymoon.

With the beginning of the new year, the idyll ended. It wasn't that bad. With Winky in Yorkshire, Severus and Margaret could now commute to Hogwarts each morning and return each afternoon at about four-thirty. The late afternoons were spent with the children, and the later evenings with each other.

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Severus no longer had any classes and, spared constant student contact, relaxed and mellowed into his new role of administrative assistant in charge of curriculum. Healer Pennywhistle remained a constant in his life for many years. As time passed, the bubbling up of traumatic experiences became milder and more infrequent, and there came a time when Pennywhistle came monthly, and then biannually, and then only at need.

The garden progressed. Severus took Mrs. Calvert up on her offer of agrimony, valerian, nightshade, and fox glove. He took other neighbors up on their offers of feverfew, borage, heart's-ease, comfrey, motherwort, lambs' ears and St. John's wort. His herb garden prospered, and the first time someone actually asked him for a remedy, it was for a wart. This was eminently possible, and the satisfied customer spread the word of his quick recovery, resulting in Severus's being inundated with requests for cures.

The superficial ailments, amenable to wizarding cures, Severus treated. The more serious cases he referred at once to the doctors in Scarborough. He, in fact, developed an enduring relationship with several of those doctors for the thorough way he evaluated and referred a case to them. They never had to investigate him, since there seemed to be a permanent block on their ability to pass information about him to higher authorities. Not that they wanted to, but one can never be sure.

After two school years, Severus's duties as administrative assistant for curriculum were no longer required on a yearly basis. Which was good because it was precisely at that time that Margaret discovered that she was pregnant. She stopped teaching to prepare for the child, and never returned. By this time Severus was able to support the family through a combination of temporary consultancies with Hogwarts, income from his local potions practice, and sound investments on the stock exchange. The Snape family, while not rich, lacked for nothing important.

Severus and Margaret's first child was a boy, born in the millennial year 2000, who was named Wensley Constantine. His sister followed two years later, and was given the name Leonora Katherine. The third child, another girl, appeared nearly four years later, and was called Daisy Eileen.

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NINETEEN (AND A HALF) YEARS LATER

_Friday, August 31, 2018 (3 days before the last quarter)_

"I have no idea," Russ Snape said to his eldest daughter, "what you did with the invitations to Mamie Calvert's bridal shower. I am not the maid of honor. I have nothing to do with such formalities." He was trying to read _The Daily Prophet_ with little success. The afternoon of the last day of August was always hectic.

"But you can, you can make them appear! Your Accio and Deprendo spells are so much better than mine. Please, Daddy. Pretty please, Daddy, make them appear!" Charms had never been Jane's best subject – only charity had gotten her an Acceptable on her OWL. Magical Creatures had been her strongest discipline, and she was currently studying biological sciences at the University of Leeds.

"Interesting how the stately, formal 'Father' regresses into 'Daddy' whenever you want me to do something for you. Are you planning to use that technique on young Walter?"

"Don't be mean, Daddy!"

"I am not using an Accio, so pay attention." Russ allowed his wand to slip from his sleeve into his hand. "Deprendo Invitatii!" he said, and upstairs books fell to the floor.

"That's right!" Jane cried, relieved, as she ran up the stairs. "I put them in the bookcase while I was looking for that necklace."

"You'd think at twenty-three she'd have more sense," Russ grumbled, returning to his newspaper.

A slim, somewhat angular young man came into the room, his soft dark hair and black eyes leaving no doubt whose son he was. "Father, is this how the badge should be worn?"

Russ rose to check. Wensley had been surprised to receive the Head Boy's badge with his Hogwarts letter, though Professor Goldstein, Wensley's head of house, had advised Russ about it a week earlier. Wensley had been preparing all August, drawing up lists of his duties and memorizing the face and name of every student in the school, including the incoming first years since Headmistress Sprout had been kind enough to pass on pictures from the files. Russ was sometimes concerned that his son was too earnest, too organized, but that was part of what being a Ravenclaw was all about, and he let Wensley handle things his own way.

Nora, on the other hand, had inherited the creative spark. She had her mother's honey hair and gray eyes, but she also had a fiery temper, a sharp witty tongue, and excelled in Charms and Defense against the Dark Arts and, to Russ's surprise and consternation, Divination. "She certainly didn't get that from my side of the family," Russ told Peggy after Nora got an outstanding in her Divination OWL Peggy merely laughed. "You certainly can't say she got it from mine!" It had been good for Nora to be made a Slytherin prefect; it gave her responsibilities to steady her.

The sound of a car on the road brought eleven-year-old Daisy hurtling down the stairs. "It's Robbie!" she squealed. "Robbie's going to King's Cross with us tomorrow!" She shot out the door and down the garden pathway into her half-brother's arms. Robert Clearwater was twenty-two, studying civil and environmental engineering at Imperial College in London. He was working on a summer internship with the Greater London Council, and hadn't been sure that he would have the weekend free.

All the way up the path to the house, Robert listened to Daisy's chatter about books, and robes, and cauldrons. "You have to see my wand, Robbie. It's got a unicorn hair in it, and its made of rosewood – it's so beautiful! And I got a toad – his name's Mr. Toad, and his house is Toad Hall just like _Wind in the Willows_, and he's going to help me in Charms class because that's where I'm really going to need help."

"A toad?" Robert mouthed to Russ as they shook hands.

"Wensley has an owl, Nora has a cat… Daisy wanted to be different."

Peggy came in then to drag Daisy back upstairs to finish packing. Her motive was not so much the packing as to give Russ and Robert some time together. Of all the children, Russ was perhaps proudest of this nonmagical one for being accepted to Imperial College. He hadn't told Robert that it had been an old dream of his own until after Robert got his letter. Now Robert was about to start his fourth year of undergraduate studies – a serious and conscientious young man if you overlooked that incident last year with the young lady and the trip to Brighton.

"Are you going to help drive us down to London tomorrow?" Jane asked her brother at supper that evening.

"That's the main reason I'm here, Sis, otherwise I'd have just gone straight to King's Cross. But with six of you now, plus all the luggage, Dad and I figured you'd need two cars. You and Wensley can go with me. Nora and Daisy will ride with Mum and Dad."

They got an early start the next morning, for the drive to London and King's Cross Station would take several hours. Just before she got into the car, Peggy paused and looked back at the house. "It's going to be really quiet for the next few months," she sighed.

"Indeed," her husband replied with a raise of his eyebrows. "I'm rather looking forward to it."

King's Cross Station was as crowded as it ever was on the first of September. The muggle part of the station changed every few years, upgraded and renovated, but Platform 9 3/4 remained much as it had been back in 1971 when Russ had first arrived with his own mother to begin his life at Hogwarts. The major difference now was that the young witches and wizards blended in much more with the muggle crowds. The change in Muggle Studies at Hogwarts had helped integrate the two worlds, at least visually.

Russ and his family made their way quietly along the platform. It was many years since either he or Peggy had taught at Hogwarts, so none of the students recognized him, though many of their parents did, and he was greeted politely. Wensley and Nora, on the other hand, were well known, and stopped to chat with friends every few steps. They were looking for a carriage with empty seats.

"We can't ride with you the whole way," Wensley told his little sister. "Nora and I both have to go to the Prefects' car for our meeting. We'll come back to sit with you later, but the first couple of hours, you'll be on your own. If you're with any Ravenclaw or Slytherin students, just tell them you're our little sister, and they'll take care of you."

"And the seventh year Gryffindors might remember me," Jane added. "I was a seventh year prefect when they were in first year."

"And Hufflepuffs never bother anybody," Russ reassured his youngest daughter.

The three Snape children boarded the Hogwarts Express, where Wensley and Nora got Daisy settled into a carriage with their luggage and left little 'Reserved' notices on the seats they would occupy when they got back from their meeting. Russ, Peggy, Jane, and Robert waited on the platform. As the train started to move, they waved good-bye, and Daisy waved excitedly back. Then the Express was gone, speeding northward to Scotland.

Russ, Margaret, and the two older children decided to have lunch together at Covent Garden, where they could watch the street performers and the tourists. Robert was, of course, staying in London. Jane, too, decided to spend the afternoon shopping and announced that she would apparate home in time for supper. That left Russ and Peggy alone for the long drive home. Jane would be with them for another two weeks until the semester started at Leeds, and Winky had gone up to Hogwarts to care for the children and help around the school.

"Whatever are we going to do rattling around in that big house for the next few months until Christmas?" Peggy sighed as they got on the motorway leading north out of London.

"I think we should turn gypsy and go vagabonding all over Britain," Russ suggested. "There are loads of places I've never visited, and I'll wager the same's true for you."

"Yes," Peggy said, "but if we do, it'll be in the car. I hate apparating."

"Maybe we could get a caravan," said Russ. "That could be very comfortable. How do you feel about camping?"

Peggy laughed. "Twenty years ago, I'd have jumped at the chance. But I find as I get older, the creature comforts become more important. A caravan might be nice though."

They stopped to pick up groceries in Scarborough. Russ realized as he picked out vegetables and cuts of meat that he was looking forward to doing his own cooking again. Winky had tended to get upset if he ever went into the kitchen, and he was afraid his culinary skills had gotten rusty. By the time they got home, it was nearly seven, and Jane was already there.

Supper was quiet, all three being tired from the long day, but there was one more thing they had to wait for. The clock ticked steadily toward eight, then eight-thirty, then nine. "Do you think it's happened?" Peggy asked Russ.

"Undoubtedly. It's just a matter of Wensley getting to the owl, and the time the bird needs to fly south."

"It could be a while," Peggy sighed.

"It could, though wizard owls tend to be faster than your normal breeds."

At ten, the sound of wings flapping against the window meant their vigil was over. Russ opened the message and glanced quickly through it. He laughed. "The next time I go to Hogwarts, I'm going to have a long talk with the Sorting Hat," he said. "It's put her into Hufflepuff."

A shrewd look came into Peggy's eyes. "I see an excellent chance for empire building here," she told Russ.

"How so?"

"In about ten years, we could have Jane teaching Science and head of Gryffindor. Wensley could take over Potions and Ravenclaw, Nora Dark Arts and Slytherin, and Daisy Herbology and Hufflepuff. Then you could apply for the Headmaster's job again, and we'd control the entire school. How's that for power?"

"I think I'd rather get a caravan and tour Britain," said Russ. "There are some things one does not want to do more than once in the same lifetime. Isn't it bedtime yet?"

"I do believe it is, Husband," said Peggy, and wishing Jane goodnight, the two went upstairs together hand in hand.

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Here ends the story.


End file.
